


The Deathly Hallows, Take Two

by Rihaan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harmony, Dark Harry, Dark Hermione, F/M, Jealous Ron, Ron Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 79,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rihaan/pseuds/Rihaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oldie, but a goodie. The Harmony retelling of the seventh book. Harry and Hermione think twice about their decisions as of late, and are not pleased with what the results might be. The journey towards the Darkest Harmony the Wizarding world has ever seen, starts with a letter. It's All for the Greater Good. Gray!HHr, Violence, Ron Bashing. (Chapters 1, 6-8 are mostly original. But this is a very old story, so forgive the excessive excerpts from the original material.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Album

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: MAJOR DH Spoilers, and you won’t really understand this fanfic well if you didn’t read the seventh book, though I’ll try to make it so you’ll understand. Although, I would like to think that this fanfic is for those who hadn’t read the last installment because of the pairings, or for those who want to see a remix of said book. The only problem is that I skipped the first two chapters.
> 
> Second Warning: Not a Dark!Harry, but very Determined!Unforgiving!Harry. This Harry won’t be brainwashed with Dumbledore’s morals. No second chances.
> 
> Intro: I’m not sure what happened to Hermione between the fifth and sixth books. She used to be a strong-willed, sorta-kinda genius who was independent and courageous who was the most loyal of Harry’s friends and would die by his side, and so would Harry by hers. But in the Sixth book… I’m not sure, like I said.
> 
> I’m still not sure whether Hermione had real feelings for Ron or not (*cough*potion*cough*), but one thing is for certain… she may be the brightest witch of her age, but she knows absolutely nothing about love.
> 
> What would happen if Hermione took the time to think of what she did in sixth year after Dumbledore’s death? What if she decided to drop her fancy of Ron, knowing that she would’ve made the worst decision of her life, and resume her interest in the man that she loved since third year? What if she gave Harry a gift to show her appreciation for putting up with her all year? If she apologized, this is what would have happened, explained in ‘The Deathly Hallows: Take Two’. Enjoy.
> 
> We’re going to jump right into the story, no details needed, since all of you could easily go to your local library and read the first 2 chapters (don’t worry, no romance in those two chapters).

Harry was still rummaging through his clothes and various interesting items in his bag – he had decided to get an early start after some consideration, so he knew what he was missing and what to get later – of almost seven years, some of them stained earlier with his blood from the broken fragments of his mirror, when he caught the glimpse of a small brown package in his trunk that he had never seen before. He looked at it strangely for a second before he shrugged. Curiosity overwhelming the broken mirror and falsities of his favorite headmaster from the delusioned reporter, he grabbed the wrapped gift.

He slowly opened it, wondering if it was from Ron or Ginny, or Hermione. Harry felt the green leather of a small photo album, matching his and his mother’s green eyes. He ripped the other half of the paper wrappings off, revealing gold writing on the album, and a note falling from it. The photo album said, ‘ _Memories_ ’ on the front of it. He picked up the note and placed it on the bed for later. He flipped open the album to see a familiar face; One Hermione Granger, smiling up at him.

He didn’t know why, but it was something about her that brought a smile to his face. She was wearing a light blue sundress, although he could only see to her waist, and the background appeared to be Hogsmeade, although there were no students. She looked very beautiful in the light fabric shirt with a low neckline. He stared for a few minutes, wondering how she had hidden her body so well. He hadn’t seen Hermione in such girly clothing since she wore the gorgeous dress at the Yule Ball. He absently wondered why she sent him a photo album. She must have sent Ron one, as well; probably even a fancier one, which made Harry feel a bit uneasy.

Harry flipped the pages of the album, and found no more pictures. He turned to the back and saw in smaller, golden letters, ‘ _To Harry, From Hermione_ ’. He gently placed the small album on the bed and grabbed the note. He carefully unfolded it, and read it.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I want to start off by telling you that I am very and truly sorry for the way I was acting last year. I was a complete fool, and I was basically ignoring you and shooting you down whenever you had a suspicion or guess that was usually right. I cannot say sorry enough for when I kept criticizing you for that Potions book. I’m sorry that I ever doubted you. I mean, if it were a dark object, you of all people would’ve known, right? I know that sorry is not enough for the actions that I have done, but I had to at least try._
> 
> _Now, if you’ll accept it, let me explain the present that I gave to you. I enchanted an album for you. When you place a picture in a pocket, the picture will be able to talk to you with the character’s own personalities. I’ve only placed one picture, but when you want to speak to a person that you placed in the album say the person’s name and it will flip to the page, making the picture become a Wizard’s picture, or in other words, come alive. Just whisper it to the book. You can only use single character pictures. It is able to take black and white, also, so you could use a ‘wanted’ picture of Sirius. (Sorry, I didn’t have a picture of Sirius or your parents. I don’t have any single pictures of Ron, either. I have quite a few pictures of you, although I’m sure that you would not want to talk to yourself. That’s why I gave you the album in the first place, so you wouldn’t have to.)_
> 
> _I know that living with those awful relatives for the last time must be horrible for you, and I know that the only reasons you are there are because you were asked to stay there by our dearly departed Headmaster since Voldemort can’t find you. I wanted to be there with you, but the Order wouldn’t let me. But I made sure that you would have someone to talk to. I know that this small photo album would never make up for what I did last year, and I deserve it if we were never close like we used to be again, but I just want to let you know that whatever happens, I’ll always care about you, support you, and I’ll still go with you and Ron on the journey, however long it is. If you don’t want me to come with you, I understand. To tell you the truth, though, I don’t think you and Ron alone can complete this task alone._
> 
> _But please… take care, Harry. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You were my first and best friend, and I don’t want to lose you._
> 
> _I can’t tell you any more, but I will tell you now that we will get you out of that accursed hell-hole soon. I’ll personally make sure of it that you will be broken out. You should know this, though: When we arrive at your house, I want you to promise that you would do nothing to interfere with us or our plans, whatever they are. We are coming to save you and we know the risks, Harry, we know that we could all lose our own lives, and we will risk it. If you try something that could be fatal, Harry, we all won’t be far along. I just pray that you don’t try anything rash if Voldemort himself shows, because if you don’t think I’ll jump in the way in a second if he tries anything on you, you’re very sadly mistaken._
> 
> _I miss you, Harry, and I hope you are well (as can be)._
> 
> _With Love,  
>  Hermione_
> 
>  

There was something about that letter that made Harry frown. He most certainly wasn’t mad at Hermione. Sure, he was a little irked at her for not hearing him out often, mostly during last year, but he wasn’t mad at her. The only time he was ever mad at Hermione was when she turned in his Firebolt in third year, and it was basically his fault. He knew that Hermione was only caring for him. He wouldn’t have liked it very much if the broom was cursed and he kept it. He was just being selfish, and Ron’s yelling didn’t help.

He read the last paragraph and a tear formed in his eye at the loyalty of her and the Order. Of course, most of them are on duties for Dumbledore’s sake, but Hermione and Ron were the only ones to go on the mission completely for him and his safety.

He smiled again when he reread the middle paragraph. He hoped he had a picture of Sirius somewhere in his trunk. Maybe his aunt Petunia had a few pictures of his mum and dad. He reread the entire letter, and smiled softly when she said that she’ll always care about him. He had no intention of leaving her behind on the trip. Merlin knows he’s rubbish without her. It would take him years to find one Horcrux, and several generations to find them all. But with Hermione, it would probably take ten years maximum, if she could still put up with him.

But Harry never only liked her for her brains. He knew that she was pretty, funny, always put a smile on his face, believed in him and stood by him when no one else did, and he would never forget how she looked when he saw her at the Yule Ball. She was absolutely stunning.

Harry stopped his thoughts right there. He couldn’t be having these thoughts about her, not again. There was a while ago when he fancied her, and for a time, thought that she fancied him, too. Unfortunately, he realized the looks Ron gave her and immediately dropped all of his feelings for her then and there. He almost successfully took his mind off of her on to Cho Chang, and then to Ginny Weasley. But both of them didn’t really work out. He really thought that one of the two would work.

Cho broke up with him because she thought that Harry was cheating on her with Hermione. Harry wanted to remind her that she was never technically his girlfriend and did admit in his mind that he would much rather be with Hermione than Cho if he had to choose. He was absolutely positive that Hermione would never have chosen Madame Puddifoot’s. He still had nightmares about that place.

Last year, he finally thought that Ginny would be the one for him. She was pretty, she liked him, and more importantly, she liked him for him.

Or did she?

Exactly when did Ginny ever know the difference between Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived? There was a very big difference between the boy who suffered a long string of tragic events that slowly left him alone and unwanted, and the fearless savior of the Wizarding world, who can take on basilisks and dragons, blast-ended skrewts and a Cerberus. Now, Harry doesn’t think that Ginny knows the difference, and he doesn’t think that she ever will. He didn’t want a girlfriend who thinks of him as her knight in shining armor. He wants a girl who can tell the difference, and he was very aware that the only one that he knows that exists is the girl in the photo album.

He didn’t know if Hermione thought of him as more than a friend. She did seem more interested in Ron this year. But what about before then? After all of those years, he still remembered her kiss at King’s Cross. For a short time, he wondered if she liked him, as more than a friend. Harry once again mused, that if Hermione did like him, there was only one thing that would be separating them, regardless. A temperamental redhead that just happened to be Harry’s best friend and a very secret admirer of Hermione by the name of Ron Weasley. Should he just stay out the way or let Hermione choose.

Harry sighed heavily as he placed the note back on his bed and grabbed the album once again. He spoke into the closed album, “Hermione Granger,” in a soft voice.

The album cover immediately flipped open, and the smile of Hermione’s picture went a little brighter than Harry remembered.

“Hi, Harry,” she said brightly.

Harry’s smile matched hers, wondering exactly how smart the Smartest Witch of her year is. “Hi, Hermione, er, Hermione’s picture, er—”

Hermione giggled at Harry’s awkwardness. “Just Hermione will do, thank you.”

“Um… okay, Hermione. I’ve never seen the real Hermione giggle before.”

“Well, you never feel uncomfortable with the real Hermione either, so I can never catch you when you’re feeling a bit awkward.”

Harry grinned. “Are you saying that I’m the only one who makes you giggle?”

Hermione suddenly looked like her cheeks were spray painted a light pink, before she replied, “I didn’t say that, it’s just that Ron would constantly tease me—well, the real me—if I giggled like a girl.”

“But, you are a girl.”

“You are the only one who seems to notice that.” She said to him.

Harry noticed that she had seemed like she didn’t care about the fact that Ron hadn’t noticed that she was a girl, and Harry did. Of course, Ron had noticed that Hermione was a girl since a little before the Yule Ball. Harry had always known, but had never thought much of it until the Ball itself.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do you have like, every personality of your creator? I mean, will you know how the real Hermione would feel and react to a question or something?”

“Yes, I do. I am her up until the twenty-ninth of June. That was the day this picture was taken.”

“And, is there any way for you to contact the real Hermione?”

“Why? Are you going to complain about my gift?” Hermione replied, and Harry could almost hear a bit of panic in her voice as her face slowly dropped.

“No,” Harry quickly exclaimed, “of course not! You’re great company! The best I’ve ever had, actually.” This cause Hermione to smile brightly again.

“It’s just that… If I asked you a personal question, would you be able to tell Hermione what I ask, and can you mimic Hermione’s reaction when… or if… I ask her?”

“I have no other frame to walk into,” Hermione said slowly, looking left and right, “so there is no way she can communicate with me unless she talks to me from your photo album. My and the real Hermione’s reactions will be similar, but her reactions or answers would most likely be a little more mature. What questions do you want to ask me?”

“Well… firstly, why did you send me the photo album?”

“Well, I thought that reason was already written in the note. I did it as a small ‘thank you’ gift for putting up with me all year. You were my first and only true friend, and I don’t want to lose you over a stupid book. You are pretty much the best friend anyone could ask for.” Hermione told him, and her eyes told the world that she was not lying.

Harry did not notice, as he was thinking about something she said earlier.

“Hermione… you said that I was your only true friend.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“What about Ron and Ginny?” He curiously asked.

“Well… I could never think of Ron as a close or good friend, but merely as a friend. Have you seen how much we’ve argued, Harry?” This caused him to snort in light laughter. Hermione ignored it and continued. “Best friends don’t argue like that. Have you noticed that we’ve only been in two big arguments in the past, while me and Ron have had too many to care about? As for Ginny, well, we haven’t really been close these past few weeks… from early June.” Hermione grazed over the fact that is was right after Ginny started dating Harry.

“Yeah… well it feels kind of weird to apologize to a picture, so I want to apologize to Hermione about our arguments. I assume it’s about the book and my Firebolt?”

Hermione gave a small and excited squeal, bolstered that Harry wanted to apologize to her origin. She then frowned a little. “But it was my fault. I should’ve told you about it before I turned it in to Professor McGonagall. And of course I wouldn’t have done it unless you agreed. I could’ve simply talked to you about it, but I didn’t. I just went behind your back and—”

“Stop, Hermione.” Harry interrupted. “It was mainly my fault, and you know it. I sided with Ron the whole time, even though he was wrong and you were right. If they did find a curse, if a Death Eater or someone had sent it, I would’ve been on my knees begging for forgiveness. It wasn’t cursed, but I still think that you—or rather, she—deserve some begging.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said sincerely, wiping the tears that might leak soon. “Did you know that Ron had never apologized for any argument that we were in? Now you know why you are my first and only true friend. And I hope you can stay my friend.” She mumbled the last part, putting her head down.

“You will always be my best friend, Hermione. To tell you the truth, I think you are my only true best friend, also. And you know I’m useless without you on our journey.”

Hermione sniffled a smile and a small tear ran down her cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly, then looked up at Harry’s emerald eyes. “You do realize that if I could come out of this picture, I’d hug you until your bones break. Although, I’m sure Ginny wouldn’t appreciate.”

Harry smiled and blushed at this nice thought. “Well, I did break up with Ginny.”

“You broke up with her?” She asked concerned, yet Harry didn’t notice the hint of happiness in that question. “I thought you two were happy together.”

“Things weren’t… well… Ginny… I don’t know how to explain it, really. I like her… but every time I kissed her, it felt like I was kissing my sister, if I had one. It was more like kissing Aunt Petunia.” Hermione made a face that Harry had to agree with. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. Cho kissed me, and all I did was freeze up. Not exactly how I pictured a kiss. Then she broke up with me ’cause she’s jealous of our friendship (He didn’t notice Hermione smiling at that point). When I kissed Ginny, it was… not what I was expecting. It seemed dull. All our other kisses were the same.”

“Were you expecting fireworks, Harry?” Hermione asked him.

“Kinda… what is kissing supposed to be like?”

It took a few seconds for Hermione to realize that Harry was not asking himself, but her. “How would I know? I never kissed anyone. Except my parents, but I was little.” Before Harry could voice the obvious, Hermione interrupted. “Viktor is my friend. He was never anything more than that, and he never will be.”

Harry scratched his head, amazed at what he had just heard, before he continued. “So that’s why you didn’t go with him to Bulgaria.” At Hermione’s quick nod, he decided to drop that topic and go back to the original one. “I don’t ask for much. I’m just asking for a girlfriend that likes me and not that guy everyone says I am. I want her to like that psycho that the Prophet slandered about Voldemort’s return and not the guy that faced twelve Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Well, that’s what the News said, at least.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “You do realize that not a lot of girls can look past that, right? You may have to end up dating someone who doesn’t even know about you, like a Muggle.” ‘Or a Muggle-born’, Hermione thought.

‘Or a Muggle-born’, Harry thought. “I know. But if she doesn’t care about the guy that saves lives annually, and likes the one that desperately needs a steel comb and axle grease for hair gel, then that’s all I care about. Of course she could have other qualities, like brains, too.

“Harry?” Hermione asked uneasily after a moment of silence.

“Yes?” He asked carefully, hearing her voice tremble a bit.

“I know a girl at Hogwarts who is a little bit of your description. I mean she’s really smart and likes you for you. And as far as I understand, she likes you a lot.” She said a little hesitantly.

Harry raised an eyebrow; he found that pretty hard to believe. “Who’s that?”

“She told me not to tell you. If it helps, she’s in your year, I think. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.” She said, looking at the bottom frame of the picture.

“Alright,” He said slowly, wondering who it is; part of him desperately wanted that person to be Hermione, the other part hoped that it would be someone Ron wouldn’t get jealous of. The latter was slowly diminishing. “I’ve been pretty good at solving stuff. I do have another question, though.”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do… do you like Ron? As more than a friend?”

Hermione was a little taken aback by Harry’s question. Slightly hoping that Harry’s next question involved him and her, she replied, “Well as I told you before, I can only think of him as a friend. I admit, I did have a small crush on him this year, but,” she shrugged, “I think I had an off year. Besides, I think we all know he’s a prat. I wasn’t really thinking straight. Any other questions?”

Harry felt enlightened by this revelation, but refrained from asking her the most important question that he had been burning to say along those lines. He wanted to ask that question to the real Hermione Granger. Instead, he asked her a few questions, talked, and enjoyed his imaginary company for over half the night until sleep overcame the Wizard in mid-conversation. Before the album magically closed itself, he didn’t see the kiss that was blown his way.

* * *

A little over two weeks later, a brunette bushy-haired witch was on a plane, reading a book on one of the darkest artifacts in the world called Horcruxes, returning to London. She had charmed the books that she had brought with her to look like a few encyclopedias. She had just closed up the memories of anything involving her of her parents and left them in Australia, for their safety. She decided that Crookshanks could be cared for by Mrs. Weasley at The Burrow.

She may have been reading the book, but she wasn’t exactly paying attention to it. She had been worried sick about how a certain green-eyed Wizard would react to the note and present she put into his bag the day that they left. She was still not sure whether Harry would talk to her picture or not, or whether he had even seen it yet. His bag was rather messy, but she decided to leave everything where it was, so he wouldn’t suspect something and find it immediately after she put it in the morning before they left Hogwarts, most likely for the last time.

She had thought about her past year’s decisions and the things that she said to Harry. She had thought about how cruel she had been to him while he had been nice to her all year, the Lavender fiasco being one of Harry’s many nice moments. She prayed that her friendship would slowly mend even if it would never be healed to the way it was before. She knew that she loved him, but she also knew that he would never love her the way that she loves him since Ginny has him, and now, she most likely lost the close friendship she had with Harry.

She knew that even if he forgave her, they would never be the closest friends they once were again. But for now, she hopes that her picture doesn’t tell Harry things that she doesn’t want it to tell.

It took her a lot of time to make the present for Harry. It left her physically and magically exhausted for each page, tireless non-stop hours to work on every detail, even the right color of Harry’s eyes for the cover and the impervious charms placed on each stitch. She began on the project a day after the Headmaster died. She had realized that Professor Dumbledore died only because she refused to listen to Harry’s suspicions about Malfoy and Snape, and now, Harry thought that it was all of his fault. And the only reason she refused to listen to Harry and distance herself in the process was for two reasons. Two incredibly stupid reasons that made it all her fault and not Harry’s.

The first reason was because she tried to pursue Ron the entire year. Even the excuse made her sick to her stomach. The only reason she had even tried to be with Ron was because she realized that after the prophecy, she really thought that Harry had a chance of dying. She knew that he was an extremely powerful Wizard, but the logical side, which takes up about 98.2 percent of her mind, spoke rationally; this was Lord Voldemort he was talking about, the man whose name those with common sense wouldn’t speak. The man who has tortured, killed and manipulated thousands of people for eleven years. The man who was killed by a baby, Harry Potter. She knew that since Harry was victorious one time after another after another, he would be victorious until the end of Voldemort, right? But, how was she going to take that chance? How could she continue to be in love with a man who was destined to have a 50 percent (or more) chance of death?

She just couldn’t handle, let alone live with it. At the time, the task was impossible when she heard the prophecy; find the ‘power he knows not’, a power that the most powerful Wizard ever – save Dumbledore – knows, and kill him. How was he supposed to kill him again? She knew that she could not be able to handle the heart-break of even the possibility of Harry being dead, so she did the only thing she could do at the time—she tried to fall out of love with him. A task that she knew would most likely fail from the beginning. But she had to at least try; after all, she had never failed anything before. But the question was: If not Harry, then who?

That was a fairly simple answer—Ron. He was the only one who showed any interest in her besides (possibly) Harry, besides being the big, ignorant prat that he was. And he was the only one besides Harry who she hung out with, who she considered as a true friend… sometimes. But she had to ask herself something… did Harry ever like her back?

She remembered when her consciousness was slipping at the Department of Mysteries after she was hit of Harry’s plea for her to be okay. She sensed a tone of desperation, regret, and it could have been the blood loss and light-headedness playing tricks on her, but she swore she could’ve heard a faint tone of love. That alone would’ve made her stay with him for all eternity until he set his feelings for her straight… were it not for the interference of the prophecy.

She had always pictured herself with one of the boys that she had always hung out with in the future. But what if the one she really wanted and ever really cared about was not in the future to be with her. She would not be able to survive if she let that love grow. She had to choose the other option—Ron. Sure they argued a lot, but what if it was a way of saying that he liked her. She knew that he liked her, but she didn’t want to bring up that she didn’t like him in that sense and hurt his feelings.

She knew that tiny peck on the cheek before Ron’s Quidditch game was going too far and Ron thought too much of it. Never mind the fact that she gave Harry a hug before and after every game. She dropped several hints on Ron that she wasn’t interested in him during fifth year; subtle, but several: the disappointment in her eyes when announced that Ron was the prefect and not Harry… distancing herself from Ron during prefect rounds… telling Ron to do his work and to study harder while in those rare times that Harry asks, helps him with his essays… comforting Harry after every Detention with that slag, Umbridge. They were obvious rejections towards Ron, but apparently, with his single-mindedness, he did not notice, and neither did Harry, apparently. That is, possibly, until that day at the Ministry. It was not his fault that he knew so little about girls and not being aware of their feelings.

And then she started pursuing Ron at the beginning of sixth year, with very little success. She helped get Ron on the team. She snorted when she pictured the thought of what would happen if Ron ever found out. ‘ _But Ron, I did it to help you!_ ‘ ‘Help me what?’ ‘ _Help you get on the team, of course!_ ‘ ‘ _You don’t think I would’ve gotten on the team myself, did you?_ ‘ ‘ _No, I didn’t say that! It’s just that he was as good as you!_ ‘ ‘ _Then it would’ve been fun trying to beat him. Just face it, you wanted to end the tryouts fast so you could go to the Library!_ ‘ ‘Ron, I could’ve gone to the library any time I want!’ ‘ _No, you couldn’t, because you wouldn’t be able to cheer on Harry!_ ‘

She wondered if that conversation would really take place if he confronted her. She probably would’ve slapped him in the face and proudly admitted that he was right.

She then remembered another impossible task that appeared later in the year, making Hermione think that maybe Harry would die and she was making the right decision, even though she knew deep in her heart that her love for him hadn’t faded in the least, if not, then became stronger. Voldemort’s Horcruxes. The complete mission was for Harry to find some secret power that Voldemort didn’t know about, destroy all of his Horcruxes, finding out later that there were six in total ( _SIX!_ ), and destroy the last bit of soul that was harbored in the body of Tom Riddle himself. She thought that the task was near impossible, even with Dumbledore’s help. Some friend she was.

The second reason was even sicker than the first. A book. Just a book. Not a cursed book. Not a Horcrux’ed book. Just a book. That was her excuse to leave Harry the time he needed a friend the most. His godfather died and she distanced herself away from her best friend because of a book and a relationship she knew wouldn’t ever work. Not again.

Hermione absently wiped the many tears from her eyes that she wasn’t aware of. She steeled herself and hooked her seatbelt when the light came on, signaling the plane would be landing soon. She placed the book back in her bag and pushed it under the chair in front of her.

This was it. In just a few minutes, a new and determined Hermione Granger would arrive at the Burrow. Ginny might still have had Harry, but Hermione swore she would still try to retain the little of her friendship with him. Only time can heal their almost broken relationship; it just depended on the amount of time to mend it.

**take?two HPDHHPTake—TwoDHHPDH**

Hermione took a deep breath as she took in the sight of the impossibly tall, crooked, and run-down house called The Burrow. She stepped towards the front door, letting her breathing go back to normal. Either she was nervous for some reason, or she had to get used to apparating. She let down the half-kneazle and knocked on the door.

Fifteen seconds later, the door was opened and she was attacked by a rather enthusiastic redhead.

“Ron… ” Hermione gasped, “… can’t breathe. Please…  _let go_!”

Ron grudgingly let go with a pink tinge on his cheeks. “Sorry. Hey, Hermione.”

“Hey, Ron,” Hermione said, rubbing her sides and trying to expand her ribcage. She could’ve sworn she heard a crack.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked curiously as he let her and Crookshanks inside.

“Well, if we’re going to get Harry away from the Dursleys, I’m not going to stand in the background. And besides, we’re meeting here anyway,” She replied. She didn’t want to tell anyone yet about what she did to her parents. Even if they agreed to it, it almost felt… wrong, even if it was to keep them safe.

“Oh,” Ron said as he closed the door and started following Hermione up the stairs. “Mum, dad, Bill, Fred, and George are at an Order meeting right now. They’re gonna announce when we pick up Harry.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Hermione muttered.

“It probably will be,” Ron replied. “They said that You-Know-Who thinks we’re going to pick him up on the thirtieth, but I bet McGonagall’s got a plan to pick him up earlier.”

“Oh, so she is the new head of the Order?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Between her and Mad-Eye, yeah.”

Hermione absently nodded while looking around for Ginny. She needed to patch things up with the fiery redhead; it wouldn’t be good to have your friend’s girlfriend to be against her, and at the moment, she didn’t think that their friendship was as powerful as a strong-willed beautiful silk-haired girl who wanted Harry for herself for her entire life and had been jealous of any girl close to Harry. Hermione knew that Ginny had been slightly jealous of her for hanging with Harry before sixth year, where it all started going downhill from there. “Where’s Ginny?” she asked after a moment.

“I’m guessing she’s in her room sulking.”

“Why?” She turned around when she reached the half-way up the stairs, walking backwards so she wouldn’t run into Ron.

“She didn’t tell you? Harry broke up with her.”

Her eyes widened in complete shock and she almost fell backwards. She quickly turned around and kept her balance by running up the rest of the stairs, hoping he didn’t see her widening smile. She left a slightly baffled Ron behind, watching her retreating bum (Not that he was complaining, mind).

She got to the second floor landing and knocked on the door to Ginny’s bedroom, almost melting over with answers.

“No, Ron! I’m not going to ask Hermione if she likes you when she gets here! You know she does!”

Hermione was torn between amusement and terror for a few seconds; she was amused that Ron would tell Ginny to get her to ask Ron out, and terrified that Ginny sounded confident when she yelled that she liked Ron. With a slightly trembling voice, she replied. “Sorry to disappoint you both, Ginny, but I don’t.”

She heard a few footsteps and the door creaked open. A flaming red haired witch faced her with an incredulous look on her face. She did not look like she was just sulking. “Hey H-Hermione,” she tentatively said. “W-what did you mean you didn’t like Ron?”

Hermione then had an amused look. “Well, I do like Ron as a friend, but nothing more.”

Ginny smirked and her hand let go of the door to wave it off. “Oh, don’t be so modest, Hermione, we all saw you and Ron cuddled up at the funeral—”

“I’m not being modest,” she interrupted politely, “I just don’t like Ron that way. He’s an insufferable prat, and I wasn’t as you say, ‘cuddled up’ with him. I needed a shoulder to cry on, and I was sitting between you and Ron. If I knew you two were going to make a big case out of it, I would’ve leaned on your shoulder. I admit, I did like Ron and I tried to get him to like me this year. I knew he did, but I wanted him to say it. I honestly can’t stand him and I regret everything that I did this year. I don’t mean to hurt his feelings, but snogging a girl in front of someone you supposedly like isn’t saying ‘I like you, too’. Besides, the relationship would never work out, anyway. I gave him a chance, and he blew it.” She noticed the rising anger on Ginny’s features. “Why? Is that a problem?”

Ginny groaned and pulled Hermione into her room none-too-gently and closed the door, not letting go of her.

“Why don’t you like Ron?” She went straight to the point. Hermione shook her head. Ginny was always straight-forward.

“Why should I?” Hermione said, ripping her arms out of Ginny’s death-grip. She was really starting to get annoyed.

Ginny sighed. “Look, He’s a good guy… sometimes. Just give him some more time… ”

“No,” she simply replied. She already gave him a bloody year.

“But you have to—” Ginny barely screamed.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Hermione told the younger girl, “and I didn’t come in here to be hassled by my so-called friend. I came here because I wanted to see if you were okay. I heard that Harry broke up with you and you didn’t tell me. Why is that?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” She angrily retorted.

“Ginny,” Hermione started angrily, and tried to calm down. She took a breath and said, “What happened when we were best friends? What happened to when you told me all about your past boyfriends? You talked to me after Neville asked you to the Ball. You asked for advice about Seamus. You ran to me the moment after you said ‘yes’ to being Dean’s girlfriend. We talked about everything, Ginny. Dating, how far you go with a bloke, I even gave you the muggle version of  _‘The Talk’_! But… after you started dating Harry… you hadn’t talked to me girl-to-girl since. Why?”

Ginny stubbornly kept her head down. While during Hermione’s speech, they both sat down on the bed.

“Ginny.”

“I’m not telling you,” She said in a final-like tone. Hermione was having none of it. She knew the answer.

“It’s because it’s Harry you’re dating, isn’t it?”

She flinched a little, but her chin was firmly attached to her chest. Hermione hit the mark.

“Why, Ginny? I thought we were friends.”

Ginny finally looked up. She would have looked calm, were it not for the fire in her brown eyes. “But you and Harry are better friends,” she said softly, yet it felt cold on Hermione’s ears. “Why doesn’t he tell you everything?”

Hermione frowned at the younger girl. “Surely you’ve noticed that Harry had other things on his mind. For God’s sake, he watched his Headmaster die!”

Ginny gasped, her anger forgotten for the moment. “He saw Dumbledore  _die_? He didn’t tell me!” Her eyes then narrowed in suspicion, the anger returning. “Why did he tell you and not me?”

“Because I’ve been lucky to know him for six years, and he is my best friend. We tell each other everything.” Hermione said, like it was completely obvious. She then noticed Ginny’s rising anger once again. “What?”

Ginny stood up to the bed and towered over the still sitting Hermione, who looked almost amused. “Harry said that he had to do something to stop You-Know-Who. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, crossing her legs and folding her arms.

“Is he going to do that job alone?”

“Of course not!” Hermione yelled, appalled that Harry will be searching for the darkest Wizard in the world’s bits of soul all by himself. “Ron and I are going.”

“What?” Ginny screamed. Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand as she stood up and waved it around the room. “Silencing charms,” She explained to Ginny, who really didn’t care what the bi- um, witch, was doing. When Hermione was done, she pocketed her wand and turned back to Ginny. “What’s so bad on helping my best friend kill Voldemort?”

“Alone!” Ginny yelled with a small flinch, this time not holding back her voice since no one but Hermione can hear her.

“Yes, Ginny. The less people know, the lesser the chance that we get caught. You have to promise not to tell anyone. I don’t think Harry wants you to know anything about this trip.”

“Why does he always tell you everything and I’m always left in the bloody dark?” She yelled angrily.

“I thought we already went through this,” Hermione replied, exasperated, yet strangely, still amused. “I’ve known Harry for six years, and even I’m on thin ice with him. You know how I haven’t been the best friend to Harry this year.” Her voice broke at the end and she sniffed. “I might not go on the journey. I might even lose his friendship… ” She had her head down, and took a quick peek at Ginny. To her horror, she saw a triumphant smile quickly replaced with a sympathetic frown. Trying to mask her features as Ginny did, Hermione said, “But if he does let me go, I swear I’ll make it up to him. I’ll be his best friend again, I swear. If I don’t, then I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not going to lose my only true best friend over a  _bloody book_!”

Ginny inwardly cursed, but her face took on a look of hurt. “So you’re saying I’m not your friend?”

Hermione looked up fully at Ginny with cold, deep brown eyes that truly scared Ginny, who hadn’t been that scared since first year. “You think about that, Ginny, because I’m not sure.” She said in a hard voice, not in a yell, yet powerful, none the less. She stood up and prepared to leave.

Ginny just thought about what she’s doing. She was being cowed by Hermione Granger! She wasn’t the one to be scared easily. In fact, she should’ve been the one scaring Hermione. She isn’t backing out of this. She regained her full height to Hermione, although she was still considerably shorter. Before she could say anything, Hermione turned back around, knowing that Ginny wouldn’t back down that easily. They met eyes, Ginny’s chocolate ones to Hermione’s cinnamon. “If you even  _try_  to steal  _my boyfriend_ —”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Hermione asked in fake curiosity.

“You know bloody  _damn_  well who my boyfriend is!” Ginny seethed.

“No, not really,” She said, discreetly pulling out her wand. “You don’t talk to me much, remember? Is it Dean? Seamus? Neville? Countless other boys you hadn’t told me about? Because Harry broke up with you, didn’t he. Unless you’ve been cheating on him… “

“ _I HAVE NOT BEEN CHEATING ON HARRY AND WE ARE STILL TOGETHER!_ ” Ginny screamed right into Hermione’s face. Fortunately, Hermione secretly cast a weak ‘ _Muffliato_ ‘ around her face right before the outburst (she expected it) so she could still hear Ginny’s screaming as if it were an urgent whispering from a beehive. She removed the spell and calmly said, “Ginny, what did you mean Harry didn’t break up with you? I heard it from—”

“Let me guess, from Harry?” Ginny spat angrily. “I am sick and tired of you being so bloody close to Harry! Why do you have to be near him so  _much_? It’s so  _pathetic_! Just because you don’t have a boyfriend and probably never will doesn’t mean you have to hang around someone else’s boyfriend!”

She had struck a nerve; a very fragile and delicate nerve that anyone with common sense would never even attempt to touch. She knew she had said something wrong and immediately and immensely regretted it. She saw the coldness grow in Hermione’s eyes and slowly began to back up. Ginny almost felt the magic uncoil off of her, riding in waves and reverberating around the room. She could swear she heard something near her crack, but she did not dare take her eyes off of Hermione. She saw Hermione slowly walk towards her, extending her wand arm, but the wand was forgotten. If possible, Ginny felt even more scared than before. She was too scared to move, almost petrified. Hermione’s hand was getting closer. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel Hermione’s hand already slowly wrapping around her throat, making her gasp for air, choke on her tongue, and at that moment, she thought that Hermione was actually going to kill her. She closed her eyes tighter, and waited… and waited…

It never came.

After a few seconds of silence, minus her staggering breathing, she slowly opened her eyes. They were slightly blurry from her eyelids shutting so tightly, but as soon as her vision cleared, she jumped back with a small shriek to see Hermione eye-level with her, the coldness still on her face and in her usually warm brown eyes, her finger pointing between Ginny’s eyes.

“Are you saying that you were dating Harry since Halloween of 1991?” She questioned angrily. “Are you saying that you’ve been through everything with him and shared his pain since he learned that Voldemort was out to get him in first year? Are you  _saying_  that you would do  _anything_  for him, even  _die_  for him, even if he  _hated_  you?” Hermione felt a tear drop down her eye, but made no move to wipe it away. She was very sure that this tear would not be the last. “No. I didn’t think you did, have, or will. Look, Ginny, I didn’t have a problem with you dating Harry. I was very proud and supportive of you since the day I noticed Harry asked more questions about you and gave glances at you. Just remember who told you to just run up and kiss him because  _‘you just might be surprised’_.” Hermione sarcastically mimicked from just a few weeks before. Her tears were flowing freely down her cheeks by now. She didn’t care.

“Now listen,  _Ginevra_! I don’t want you to hassle him on where we’re going, how long we’ll be gone, or what we’re looking for. If Harry wants you to know, he’ll let you know, but only if he brings it up. I don’t want you to persuade him to not go. What we’re about to do in just a couple of weeks just might destroy Voldemort once and for all. I’ll be going with him, but either as an ally, an acquaintance… or the best of friends that we used to be, eventually. I’m not going to let you – or Ron – get in the way of that… unless Harry lets you.” Hermione’s voice cracked a little at the end.

She struggled on. “Although I doubt that it may happen, if it does, I won’t put up a fight. Then you won’t have to worry about Hermione Granger again.” The breeze that was surrounding her suddenly stopped flowing and she quickly turned away from her, lifted her wand, and removed the charms. She opened the door and turned back to face Ginny, her face now in a sad smile. “I might not be able to give him something to fight for, a reason to live; I wish I could, but something tells me that you would be a bit more persuasive.” She winked and left the room.

‘So much for patching things up,’ she thought with a sigh. She was this close from strangling Ginny until her hair clashed with her face color, but decided against it at the end. Harry would definitely be mad if he found out, but she knew that Ginny would never tell anyone what had just happened. She knew that Harry would hold up against the persistent redhead’s attacks, but she didn’t know how long. For now though, she had to worry about getting Harry from those cretins.

A short moment later, Hermione realized that Harry, at the moment, was officially single. This brought a slightly hopeful smile to her tear-stained face.


	2. Leaving Privet Drive

Harry never had any company over the summer except for Hedwig, and since Dudley couldn’t beat up a photo album, Harry had talked with Hermione’s picture for the remainder of his last stay on Number four, Privet Drive. Not that the Dursleys found out about it, of course.

He didn’t know why, but he felt more comfortable sharing stuff with Hermione than he ever did with anyone else. He felt comfortable and safe around her, even if it was just a picture. He knew he always felt the same with the real Hermione as well, but never really noticed it. Harry also never really noticed how beautiful Hermione really was before (although the Yule Ball was a real eye-opener). He wondered why he never figured out all of this before. He subconsciously knew it, but it never came to the front of his mind. And then he remembered three weeks ago in his first conversation with her; He thought she liked Ron, so he didn’t try to think of her that way. Now that he was almost positive that she didn’t like Ron, his feelings started returning, and he welcomed them this time instead of shunning them. He wasn’t sure if it was a crush, love, a strong like, or if he was just confused. He just knew that he cared more for Hermione than anyone—even Ginny. That scared him a little.

Harry felt that the more he spoke with Hermione, the guiltier he felt about Ginny, even though he broke up with her. He knew that Ginny would probably think that Harry would get back together with her after the war. He knew that he had to end his relationship with Ginny permanently when he arrived at the Burrow. He would probably do that after the wedding, to keep the happiness in the air for a while. Harry was almost positive that Hermione had at least a small crush on him. Either that, or she was trying too hard to get their old friendship back together; it definitely worked, with a bonus. Harry would’ve thought that was the reason, if he hadn’t seen the blush on her cheeks every time he gave her a compliment since the beginning, which must’ve meant that the real Hermione must’ve liked him, too.

The morning after, Harry felt that he needed something to do to prepare for Horcrux searching, so with a little bit of coaching from P. ‘Mione (his new nickname for her, which she pretended to gag at every time he called her that), he started exercising. She explained to him that while he was nowhere near fat, he had little to no muscle. Harry had no choice but to agree. Every morning, Harry would wake up and do a few push-ups and crunches a few times and run laps around his small, but good-enough room. Hermione suggested that she should be able to watch him in the morning to count how many of each he has done and to see if he was doing each one right (and, of course, to enjoy the view, which she cheekily told Harry as a taunt. She was rewarded with a heated blush that had nothing to do with the workout.) Now, two and a half weeks later, he was wiry; not well-built, but still stronger than he was before. That was one of the many things she helped him with. With her help, he was able to learn how to control his temper. Even he had to admit that he had a few temper tantrums in the past.

When Harry came back from the bathroom, he almost fell to the ground on Dudley’s stupid idea of a prank. A white, now-broken teacup that used to hold tea was at the entrance to his room. He automatically knew it would be Dudley—It was porcelain, and his aunt and uncle wouldn’t have left it out to be broken, no matter how much they wanted to beat him for breaking it. When Harry voiced his concern with P. ‘Mione, thinking that Dudley may be thinking of a huge farewell prank and if she could figure it out, she asked what the first prank was. When he explained about the teacup, Hermione mused, “Well, I don’t think that was really a prank. I mean really, who would leave the teacup on the ground next to the door filled with tea? Maybe he was going to give you a going-away  _present_  instead of a  _prank_? I mean you saved his life a couple of years back, and from Dementors, by the way. You seem to have a knack for doing that, actually.”

“But he’s  _not_  nice, ‘Mione,” explained Harry. “I told you all of my horror stories during fourth year. He wouldn’t do something like that. Leaving tea for someone who you beat up since you knew how to ball up a hand isn’t something he would do.”

“Well, you  _did_  save his life,” Hermione countered. “I think the tea-cup was a small thank you. From your stories, I wouldn’t think he would say out-right,  _‘Thanks, mate, you really saved my life. Sorry how I treated you like bull your whole life, but I finally realized that you’re better than me in every way and Dad and I should go join my pack with the manatees so I wouldn’t get in your way again. I could talk Mum to going back to her stable, too.’_ ”

Harry howled with laughter and almost lost his footing. He cleared his mirthful eyes, about to say something, when he heard a door slam and a howl from downstairs.

“Oh! You!”

Harry slowly got up and sighed. “Wish me luck.” He was about close the album before P.M. stopped him.

“Take me downstairs,” she explained, “I can hear everything in the outside world around me when I’m not activated and I can amplify my voice. If they lay a finger on you, they’ll regret it.”

Harry stopped himself from breathing a sigh of relief. If Harry said anything out loud about his feelings for Hermione, she would’ve heard it.

Keeping his mind on the task he knew was about to come, he shook his head and replied, “I don’t think Vernon will be intimidated by a picture. It took Mad-Eye to scare him, and you’re just a picture of a pretty girl. Not very scary.” 

_“BOY!”_

“Just keep me in your hand, Harry. I’m not going to yell at them. Screeching is a good word for it, though.”

Harry chuckled and closed the book. He kept it in his hand and walked out of the room. He walked down the stairs and saw them all dressed for leave. “You took your time!” roared Vernon Dursley, Harry’s nightmare of an uncle, when Harry appeared at the top of the stairs. “Get down here. I want a word!” Harry almost chuckled when he heard a low growl on his right.

Harry walked down the stairs two at a time and sat on the couch, putting his hands in his lap, leaving the album in plain sight. Vernon glared at it for a moment before pacing while Petunia sat down adjacent to him on the sofa and craned her giraffe’s neck to see the album title. “Where did you get that from?” She asked suspiciously. Harry knew she would’ve expected he stole it if it were not for the fact that Harry never left the house.

“Gift from a friend. If we have enough time, you might meet her soon.” No one except Harry noticed the small giggle that was stifled immediately.

Vernon stopped pacing and looked suspiciously at Harry for a long moment before saying, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Harry was about to retort until he realized that technically, Hermione was in the room. This wasn’t the time to start an argument. “Oh,” he said in an amused tone.

“It’s all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going anywhere.”

Harry smirked at his foolish uncle. He had been changing his mind for four weeks and frankly, Harry was getting tired of it. “You do realize that you  _will_ die if you stay, right?”

“Is that a threat, boy?” Vernon growled as he locked beady little eyes with calm emerald eyes, taking a step closer.

“No, it’s a promise, straight from the Dark Lord, mind you.” Harry heard a small girlish snort.  _‘Merlin, even her snorts sound cute!’_  “Please, tell me why you changed your mind once again for the twenty-seventh time,” He said, not masking his sarcasm.

Vernon scowled and began pacing again. Harry took this moment to look at Dudley. He had his head down and his hands squeezing his knees, as if contemplating in his mind, or whatever that was up there. Harry wondered if he really was trying to apologize to him. Before he could say anything to him, Vernon Dursley turned back to him.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I was awake half the night thinking it all over,” (‘while eating ham the whole time in the kitchen when you thought everyone else was asleep,’ Harry thought) “and I believe it’s a plot to get the house.”

Harry had no choice but to laugh at this. It was just typical of him to want the house that he’s been abused in for a full ten years and six summers. He could hear Hermione faintly laughing, but his voice drowned it, or so he thought. When he stopped laughing, he noticed that all three Dursleys were looking around for something.

“Who was that?” Dudley asked.

“I suppose it was someone laughing,” Petunia Dursley said as she got up and went into the kitchen. Harry supposed that she was about to crane her neck out of the window as she had done countless times before. Harry just hoped that it was the last time. He knew the jig was up when Vernon looked at him suspiciously and said with tiny narrowed eyes, “What was that, boy? Was it some of your freakish business?”

Harry thought quickly and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I was laughing at the ridiculous stuff you said. Why would I want this house? I already got one.”

Vernon narrowed his eyes into tiny slits, and Harry wondered if his uncle could see him anymore. He started pacing again. “So you’re saying this Lord Thing, er, Voldymore, is trying to kill us unless we move out of this house.”

“Firstly,” Harry said, sounding stern, “his name is Voldemort. He can be called Moldybutt, The Dark Tosser, Tom Riddle (his real name by the way, which he hates), The Guy-Who-Died, Voldyboy, Moldefoot, U-No-Poo, and many other creative terms, but never Voldymore. Give the man some dignity.” He could actually feel his hand vibrate with stifled giggles.

“Secondly, yes, he  _will kill you_. He showed no hesitation when he killed my parents, and they were magical. He would at least put the Cruciatus—the torturing curse, by the way—on you guys since you have no magic in your veins. Voldemort hates Muggles; one of his missions in his immortal – for now, at least – life is to kill all of the Muggles. You know how you hate my lot? He hates your lot with a passion, and will kill you if he finds the people who were – well, I guess you could call it ‘raising’ me. He probably might bring a Dementor or two to finish you off after he’s done torturing you.”

Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Dudley looking frightened, as if the bogeyman came out of his closet and was actually bigger than him. “De…Dementors?” Dudleyasked with a terribly frightened voice. “There are m-more?”

Harry gravely nodded, although he was sure that this argument would be over soon. Dudley is scared, and they would do anything for Dudders. “Hundreds. Maybe thousands. They’re all on Voldemort’s side, now. All of those mysterious things on the news where people are attacked and killed, buildings are burned, bombs set off, looks like a tornado hit a place, but nobody’s alive to see the tornado, so it can’t be proven? He does it all. He is the most evil man in the world and the darkest creatures in the world are his followers. Aunt Petunia?” He looked at the paler than usual woman who had heard everything from the kitchen door. “Do you know why Voldemort killed my dad and your sister? You blamed it on the Wizarding world, my dad, your own sister – and me, for some reason – that she was dead, but I think that I should tell you the truth. The truth of why she really died.”

Harry had never seen Aunt Petunia Dursley more scared in his entire life. She looked ready to faint at the moment. However, he knew that she would be curious, as this just might be the last time he saw her, the last link to her long gone sister. A few seconds of tense silence later, she nodded stiffly, shaking mildly.

“It was because of me,” Harry said softly, putting his head down. “A bit before I was born, there was a prophecy concerning me and Voldemort made. I’m sure even Muggles know what prophesies are, tales that are destined to happen in the future, near or far. My headmaster was the first to hear it. But someone else heard it.  _Snape_ ,” he spat out the name like a particularly awful curse word, “heard it. But only half of it. He was kicked out before he heard the whole thing and ran straight to Voldemort to tell him.” He looked back up to see his aunt choking back a sob, and it appeared as if she was trying to speak, but was too broken down. “What?” he asked curiously. He hadn’t expected her to cry this early into the story.

“The…the man…that you said…his full name.” She said brokenly. ‘Surely it couldn’t be the same person…’

“Severus Prince Snape. What? Has he shown up here before?” Harry asked, fully curious. He saw that she gasped softly when he said Snivellus’s full name. He wanted to probe further, but her hand motioning him to continue stopped him. “Anyway, Voldemort spent a year trying to find me because of that prophecy. He didn’t know that we were hidden in a cottage. There was a charm on the place so that the house couldn’t be seen and it can’t be traced. One of my parents’ friends knew where it was, too. They didn’t know that he was bad, though. He went to Voldemort, and then Voldemort went after us.

“My dad – you know, that  _awful boy_  you complain about – saw him first. He told her to take me and go upstairs while he fought him off. He died. He died from the first curse. The killing curse, if you wanted to know. That is the only spell that can kill you without putting a mark on you. Only one person ever survived it. Sometimes I wish that person wasn’t me.

“Back to my parents, or ‘parent’, at the moment. He went upstairs and found my mom and me. She put me in my crib and blocked him from me. She could’ve run. He told her to run. He gave her so many chances. Truthfully, she should’ve run. It wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway, what with me being destined to die and everything. I’ll tell you about that later, though.” At this moment, he heard a few sharp intakes of breath. He still had his head to the floor, and wasn’t planning on lifting his head so they could see his tears slowing falling.

“But she didn’t,” Harry continued after a few seconds. “She cared for me enough to stay and protect me. She kept begging for him to spare me and kill her while he told her to get out of the way. That bastard killed her with the same curse. I’ll make sure to pay him back one day, hopefully soon. Then, he came to me, a defenseless fifteen month-old baby. He used the killing curse again. But it rebounded on him. It half-killed him. It would have killed him, if it weren’t for the dark ritual that he went through. He came back thirteen years later, and has been haunting my life since then. It was all because of a prophecy I just told you about. He killed my parents, a friend of mine, Cedric, (in a way) my godfather, Sirius, and recently, (in another way) my headmaster and mentor, Professor Dumbledore. All of it was so he could get to me.” He blinked back his tears. That was still a painful subject to approach for him.

He paused to let them all soak in what he just said. He slowly looked up, half-expecting to see Vernon snickering. He was shocked to see a lone tear falling off of his face, leaning against the wall. He really hadn’t expected that. He looked over to Dudley. He was also surprised to see the hulking figure of a cousin, which reminded him so much of a miniature Grawp, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

What surprised him the most, though, was his aunt Petunia. She was freely crying, sniffling, and he had not noticed when she had sat down, but she did, holding a box of tissues. It seemed to Harry that they were finally going to leave Privet Drive after all.

“Now,” Harry continued, standing up from the sofa and walking towards the middle of the room, “I told you about Voldemort trying to kill me. I told you why he wants to kill me. But what I didn’t tell you was why it was so important for him to kill me. In other words, the prophecy’s contents. I memorized it, so I’ll tell it to you. But only on one condition. You have to leave. If you don’t, then you are open targets. Since you’re my last living relatives, he will assume that I told you the whole thing. He still hasn’t heard the entire thing because I destroyed the only recording of it. He’s going to torture you for information. I’m sure you know about the blood wards around here. The second I turn seventeen, He’ll know exactly where you are. He can appear right in front of your bed if he wanted to!” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you, because if you go into hiding, then you’ll have nothing to be scared about. Just…just nod if you want to go into hiding so I can tell you the prophecy.”

First, Harry’s eyes found Dudley. He instantly nodded. Then he looked at Petunia. She seemed hesitant at first, but he knew that she was just as curious, if not more, about the words that led her only sister to her death. In the end, she nodded.

Harry then looked at the man of the house. He was almost sure that if Vernon said no, they would all stay. Unless Petunia could talk him out of it. He knew Dudley could also easily persuade his parents, but if Vernon were too dedicated to his house of Number Four… “Well, Mr. Dursley?”

Vernon’s watery eyes seemed to widen in shock at what he just called him. Mister?

Harry just kept staring. Soon enough all six eyes were staring at him. He began fidgeting under them. It seemed like it was a few minutes of him deciding and contemplating what to do under their stare.

Harry didn’t even bat an eyelash, even with the tears from earlier.

“A-alright,” Vernon finally said, a little choked. “Alright, alright! We’ll move!”

Harry had to hold back a triumphant grin. He was barely successful.

“I guess that means I can tell you the prophecy now, and what it means.

“ _‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.’_

“Let me start with the translation. The one who can kill Voldemort has parents who has faced against them and survived three times. My parents fit that description.” He stuck out his index finger to indicate  _‘one’_. “I was born on July the thirty-first, which is the seventh month, and since it is at the end of the month, it is sometimes known as the death of a month.” His middle finger joined his index.  _‘Two’_. “The Dark Lord marked me as his equal. That one is self-explanatory.” He used his three extended fingers to point at the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. “I got this… that night.” He barely refrained himself from taunting him with ‘during that car crash’.

“So, apparently, I have this power the Dark Lord knows not. That would obviously scare him. He will get close to everyone I love and even those that I barely tolerate,” at this, he sent a glare towards them, “and torture them for information, weaknesses, how to find me, ransom, you know. Anything it takes for him to get rid of the last and only foe in his way. So basically, I’m the last hope for both worlds. The  _‘Normal’_  and  _‘Freak’_  worlds. If something happens to me, I hope you’ll take it literally when I say that all hell will break loose.”

Deathly Silence. Nobody said a word. Harry felt that his throat was dry. He needed to get something to drink soon. “Hestia Jones,” he continued, “and Dedalus Diggle will be coming shortly to help you move and go into hiding.”

Vernon nodded shakily.

Seconds later, the doorbell rang. Harry calmly walked over to the door and turned the knob.

“ _Harry Potter!_ ” Squeaked an excited voice the moment the door was opened. Harry looked to see a small man with a mauve top hat give a deep bow to him. “An honor as ever!”

“Thanks, Dedalus, Hestia,” He smiled and nodded at the dark-haired woman behind the short man.

“Good day to you, Harry Potter’s relatives!” the man said happily as Harry let him into the house. He noticed that they were quite tense, but shrugged it off, assuming that it was because they were leaving their home. He looked around. “I see you are all packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one,” said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. “We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house – Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest him – we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you.

“You know how to drive, I take it?” He asked Uncle Vernon politely.

Before Vernon could retort on how ridiculous a question that was, Harry said politely, “Yes, all three of them can.” At then, he pointed a glare at Vernon. He had never been taught how to drive himself. Surprisingly enough, Vernon flinched. It took all Harry could to not flinch himself.

He was moved out of his shock by Dedalus. “Fascinating…simply fascinating. Anywho… you, Harry, will wait for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements to smuggle you out. From what I have heard, a good number of the Order will help you escape. Mad-Eye will explain later.”

Harry nodded in understanding. Mad-Eye never followed schedules. He briefly wondered who was coming with him – Hermione and Ron were the first on the list – before a loud  _“HURRY UP!”_  woke him from his reverie. His eyes immediately snapped to Dedalus, and then to the watch he was holding.

“Quite right, we’re operating on a very tight schedule,” Dedalus said after taking a peek at the watch and placing it back in the pocket of his waistcoat. He continued talking to Harry. “We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your family’s Disapparition, Harry, thus the charm breaks the moment you all head for safety.” He turned the Dursleys, who were still looking at the pocket where the watch was placed. “Well, are we all packed?”

Harry inwardly groaned at the three, who looked like they hadn’t even heard the man, before he answered for them. “Yes, they’re packed and ready to go.”

Hestia finally spoke, “Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus.”

Harry smirked to himself as he watched the two move into the hallway. He turned to the Dursleys. He had to admit, even though he was sure that he would never miss them, he also hoped that they were safe. Although when they crossed paths again, he just might give them a permanent spot at St. Mungo’s. At leas Lockhart will have company.

“Well,” Harry started, since it looked like they certainly weren’t going to start, “I guess this is goodbye.” He casually walked up to Vernon and held up his hand. Vernon’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock. He automatically lifted his hand up and they shook, but both let go immediately.

Harry chuckled. “That’s the first time you touched me and I didn’t get a mark.” He walked past a suddenly slightly guilty-looking Vernon to a shaking, pale, Petunia.

“How would my mum have raised Dudley if you had died? Would she have abused him? Would my dad have? Would I have beaten him up on a daily basis?” He almost decided to just walk by her, but refused before he moved. “I don’t want you to answer those questions. You already know the answers. Although I still want to know how you knew Severus Snape. What do you know?”

Petunia started of with a few words in tears, and Harry couldn’t understand her, but before she could continue, Dedalus and Hestia entered the living room.

“Sorry,” Dedalus started, “truly sorry, but we must leave.”

“Oh, umm, well, come along, then,” Vernon said as he practically ran out of the door, not looking back.

Harry turned to Dudley. He seemed to be seriously contemplating something that must have been too incomprehensible for his brain. Harry decided to let him off, to see if it was a joke or a thank-you. “Thanks for the tea, Dudley.”

Dudley’s eyes widened. How did Harry know that?

As if Harry had heard his thoughts, he replied, “You shouldn’t leave the good china on the floor, Dud. Like Petunia or Vernon would ever put that on the floor next to a door. So tell me, why did you leave me some tea at my door?”

There was a few seconds of silence before Dudley said something that Harry had never heard before from him, not even to his parents. “Thank you.”

Harry grinned. “You’re welcome. If you were thanking me for those Dementors, I have a bit of a ‘Saving People Thing’.” He lifted his hand to the burly boy who, moments later, took it.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and for a second, Harry thought he hadn’t heard it from Dudley.

“I’ll need more than luck, but that’s a start,” Harry joked as he pulled his hand away, but was interrupted by a sniffling Petunia.

“S-such a lovely b-boy…s-saying thank you—”

“And I suppose you’re going to try to be sweet?” Harry said with a chuckle. “Or are you going to scoff at me, tell me how much you detest your sister, complain about how much I look like that awful boy, and—”

_“What?”_

Harry had forgotten that Hestia was still there. He didn’t know how he would cover that up, so he didn’t try lying. He wondered how Petunia was going to cover this up.

“I never called his father awful!” Petunia shouted as Hestia glared at her.

“Yes,” Harry corrected, “you did. Didn’t he tell you about Azkaban?”

Petunia stiffened. She didn’t think the boy would remember that. He was bound to find out anyway, she realized a moment later. “Your father wasn’t the b-boy I was t-talking ab-bout,” she stuttered helplessly.

“What?” Now it was Harry’s turn to be confused. If it wasn’t James Potter, then who else had talked to Petunia? Wait a minute…if it was his father in the first place, she would have not said ‘boy’. It had to be someone younger than eighteen who told Petunia about Azkaban, and his dad was eighteen when his mum started tolerating/dating him, so she would never invite him to her house before then. But... who could that person be, if not his dad?

But before he could ask, Petunia said, “You’ll figure it out…Potter.” And with that, she turned on the spot and left to the car. Harry almost thought she moved so fast, she apparated away.Dudley followed his mother, but before he reached the door, he said in a small voice that Harry thought he was not capable of using (or even possess, for that matter), “I hope you win.”

After Dedalus and Hestia gave him parting words and the promise that they would be the best of chums (from Dedalus, at least), Harry shot up to his room with a strength and speed he didn’t know he had and picked up Hedwig’s cage. “We’ll be leaving soon, girl,” Harry said to her as he walked through the hallway, Hedwig’s cage and Hermione in his hands.

“Open me up,” Hermione demanded in a muffled voice.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Harry said as he flipped the cover open, “not with all those noises in the background.”

“That was some good telling off,” Hermione said, “but why didn’t I get a turn?”

“I didn’t have enough time,” Harry said apologetically.

“That’s OK, Harry,” Hermione replied, “after all, you were the one that was raised by them. All I did was listen to what they said earlier and I want to kill them. I wish my original had found a way to sneak out of the Burrow and ‘meet’ the Dursleys.”

They spent a few minutes walking around the house, talking about what Hermione would’ve done to the Dursleys, had she been there.

Harry walked in the shadows of the dark and empty house, showing Hedwig the house and talking to Hermione. He stopped at the small cupboard under the stairs, the horrid room he had lived in for the first ten years of his life before his true identity was revealed.

Hermione noticed that he stiffened and looked out of the side of her picture to see the cupboard.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered with small tears in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mione,” He said soothingly, “I’ll never have to set foot in it again. But I do want to look inside, don’t you, Hedwig?”

The snowy owl hooted in what seemed to be anger, her amber eyes staring piercingly into the room.

“Right, then,” Harry said as he slowly walked past the cupboard as Hermione giggled.

He walked into the kitchen to get some water when he heard the telltale pops of Apparition. He set the cage on the table and quickly looked out of the kitchen window, his wand in his right hand and the opened album in the other, and saw the disillusionment charms lifted. There was the huge, hulking, and lovable giant, Hagrid, in the darkness with a helmet in his arm and Sirius’s motorcycle with a sidecar attached. He also saw the smaller figures stepping gracefully off the Thestrals and broomsticks.

He whispered to the album, “They’re here. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Okay, Harry, but if anything happens to you,” She started with a fierce look in her eyes.

Harry really did not want to know what she was about to say. “Relax,” he politely interrupted when he found out that she was still thinking of something to say. “I’ll be alright…P. ‘Mione.” Before she could retort, he closed the book and put it in his pocket while he ran to the door and ripped it open to be attacked by a similar looking, yet somehow more mature woman, in a crushing hug for a full second, before she whispered, “Did you get my present?”

Harry smiled at the beautiful girl as he hugged back. “Yes, and it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten…even better than the Firebolt.”

“Great!” she squeaked, kissing him on the cheek before Ron came up to pat Harry on the back. Hagrid came to the door and barked, “All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?”

“Definitely,” Harry said as he finally let go of Hermione and joined them outside. Luckily, the night air was slowly fading the blush that came when she kissed his cheek. “I was expecting less people, but,” he grinned and looked straight towards Mad-Eye, who seemed to be roaming the entire neighborhood with his magical eye, “I guess there’s a change in plans? Should we all go inside so we won’t be overheard?”

Moody focused both of his eyes on Harry for a moment in surprise; he certainly learned thing or two about constant vigilance. “Yes, Potter, we should,” he growled with a bit of amusement as they all started walking back in the kitchen. Harry looked around to see the dedicated soldiers who were breaking him out; Fred and George, Bill, Ron, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Remus, Fleur, Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Mundungus, Hagrid, and Hermione; he felt a little dismayed to see Mundungus there, but he still felt amazingly happy at the moment (probably because he was still thinking about the kiss). He looked over to Tonks as he saw a shimmer of light in her direction out of the corner of his eye. His eyes bulged when he saw that the shimmering came from her left hand ring finger. He looked at Remus and grinned like mad at him. Remus became pink with embarrassment, but smiled back. He looked back at Mad-Eye, who was still swiveling his magical eye around.

“So, what’s the plan?” Harry asked Mad-Eye.

The grizzled auror explained the situation. “As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A.” Harry nodded. “Pius Thickness has gone over, which give us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who—” Harry rolled his eyes, “—getting at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really done is to stop you getting out of here safely. Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.”

Harry nodded his understanding. The picture Hermione told him what the Trace was once. All wizards and witches had the Trace on them; if magic was performed, the Ministry of Magic would know. “And I can’t wait for the Trace to break…So I guess we’ll be flying? That’s the only way I can think of.”

“Spot on, Potter!” he barked with a grin. “Now, your mother’s charm will break under two conditions: when you come of age, or” – Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen — “you no longer call this place home.”

“I never did before. Are we ready to go?” he asked, leaning off the wall.

“Hold on, Potter!” Moody grinned at him with a bit of pride in his growl. “There’s one more part in the plan. We planted a fake date at the ministry, the day before your birthday. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so he most likely has Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s, Auntie Muriel’s – you get the idea. But you’ll be going to Tonks’s parents and they’ll have a Portkey to go to the Burrow. Any questions?”

Harry took a quick glance around the room and turned back to Mad-Eye. “I’m guessing not all fourteen of us are heading towards Tonks’s parents, right? So do you have some sort of diversion?

Moody broke into a genuine smile. “You’re a real strategist, Potter. I didn’t say the key point. There will be seven Harry Potters roaming the skies—”

“Polyjuice Potion?” Harry asked, hanging his head down. He saw Moody nod. “So that means we’ll be moving in pairs, right, since there will be seven others, and each pair will be heading for a different house?” He saw Mad-Eye looking at him with praise. He was about to complain, until he heard what the note from Hermione said earlier.

‘When we arrive at your house, I want you to promise that you would do nothing to interfere with us or our plans, whatever they are. We are coming to save you and we know the risks, Harry, we know that we could all lose our own lives, and we  _will_  risk it!’

He sighed and after a moment, grinned. “I guess not even Voldemort can split himself into seven,” He muttered. Hermione’s mouth twitched. After a few seconds of thought, he spoke again. “I have an idea to add on to that, though.”

“Yes, Potter?” The retired Auror focused his eyes on Harry.

“What if I’m one of the escorts? To throw them off? They’ll start aiming for the other Potters, not the escorts.”

Moody eyed him with both eyes, as if wondering if this was the real Harry Potter, or if he was under the Imperius. He immediately doubted the latter. Seconds later, he gave a brief nod of a approval with a smile of pride (the best smile Mad-Eye could give, anyway) as he pulled out a flask of what appeared to be mud while he pulled a small glass out and poured a little of the flask into it. He must be waiting for a chunk of hair. Harry pulled a pair of scissors out of his pocket and snipped a little bit of hair off.

“Why do you have scissors in your pocket?” Moody asked in a curious growl.

“I suspected that the plan might have something to do with Polyjuice potion or some other type of trickery. Always be prepared,” Harry said when he dropped the hairs in the flask. When it came in contact with the mud, it turned into a clear, bright-gold color.

“That looks much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione as she watched the bright flask, causing Harry to colour a little.

Ron looked at Hermione for a second with his eyebrow raised before he shrugged it off.

Moody walked over to an empty space in the kitchen and said, “Fake potters over here and a volunteer, please!”

Hermione left his side and walked over to join Ron, Fleur, Fred, George, Kingsley, Fleur and Moody.

“We’re one short,” said Lupin.

“Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him unceremoniously down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked over to stand between Fred and George instead.

“I’m a soldier, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus.

Moody was about to yell, when Harry beat him to it. “Shut it, Mundungus. I still hadn’t forgiven you for taking Sirius’s stuff. If you bail out on us now, I’ll be looking for you when I’m seventeen.” Harry said with a bit of an evil glint in his eye.

Mundungus swallowed heavily and looked back at Mad-Eye. He didn’t look like he was going to complain anytime soon. His hair was plucked from behind by Harry, who dropped it in the small cup that still had mud in it. It started to smoke and turned black and slimy, like tar. Harry almost heaved at the thought of having to drink this.

Meanwhile, Moody pulled out six more small glasses from inside his cloak and poured a bit of Harry’s potion into each glass. “Altogether, then …”

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Fleur, Kingsley and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione, Fleur and Mundungus were shooting upward; Harry, Ron, Kingsley, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to shoot backward into their skulls. Kingsley’s hair was growing.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters and one Mundungus Fletcher gasping and panting in front of him.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together,  _“Wow…we’re identical!”_

“I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

“Bah,” said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, “Bill, don’t look at me – I’m ‘ideous.”

“Just be glad that you’re not Mundungus,” Harry said irritably as he was standing next to Fleur.

“I’ve got a sack of clothes to change into.” Moody growled over the conversation.

Harry and his six clones walked over to the bag, putting on his clothes and glasses, while Mundungus traded clothes with him. He saw that they were displaying his body a lot more than he wanted them to, and didn’t appreciate his own body at the moment.

“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.

Hermione placed on the glasses and clothes and slid her finger down his noticeably stronger arm, nodding appreciatively, not noticing the real (blushing) Harry.

Once dressed, the fake Harry's took the bags and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second bag.

While they were doing this, Moody called Harry over. “A bit of advice if you’re going to use Mundungus, lad,” Moody growled, but it was not the aggressive growl that Harry usually heard. “Your pet owl…Hedwig, isn’t it?” At Harry’s hesitant nod, he continued. “See, Mundungus usually doesn’t care about an animal dying, he wants to save  _his own_  arse. If you show any feelings towards that owl, it  _will_  tip them off. What I suggest is that you give Hedwig to someone else and get one of the dummies. You don’t have to, but there’s a chance that you  _and_ Hedwig  _and_  your partner will die if you do anything out of his character.” And he left a gawking Harry to address the others. Seconds later, Harry recovered, wondering who to trust with Hedwig. Hermione, of course. But it would be wise to hand her to another escort and not a partner. He could give Hedwig to Ron, but his escort was Tonks… he didn’t think that was wise. It was a unanimous decision—Remus.

“Good,” said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage carrying Harry's and one Mundungus faced him. “The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom. Fred and Arthur by broom. Remus and George, on broom. Bill and Fleur, Thestral. Harry and Hermione, Thestral. Ron and Tonks, broom. Hagrid and Kingsley, motorbike.“Any questions? Good, now let’s get moving.”

Ron looked like he was about to complain, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Harry and Hermione beamed. After he talked to Remus for a moment to fill him in on Moody’s idea, he handed over Hedwig and his broom, which was leaning against the corner in the kitchen. He patted Hedwig on the head one more time, and recieved the usual expected nip on the finger and an affectionate hoot, before he wished good luck to her, Remus and George and turned to walk back over to his beautiful partner.

They started walking outside, and Hermione asked, “Harry, why did you change into Mundungus?”

“Because he’s not worth a killing curse,” he smiled, causing Hermione to chuckle.

“So…did you bring—?”

Harry patted his pocket and said, “Yep, it’s right here, ‘Mione.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “‘Mione?” she chuckled.

Harry’s cheeks pinkened again with embarrassment. “Well, er, the picture Hermione liked that name, sort-of, so I assumed—”

“Don’t worry Harry,” Hermione assured him, “I like  _that_  nickname, and  _only_  that nickname. But please don’t call me that in public. If Ron finds out, he’ll think he has the right to give me goofy nicknames like  _Hermy_.”

Harry smiled as Hermione continued. “You must have grown really close to her. I mean, me.”

“I have,” Harry said earnestly when he mounted the Thestral and held his hand out for Hermione, who took it. “Now the picture and I are the best of friends. Can you and I be?”

Hermione swung her legs around Harry and held him close. She put her head on his shoulder and said, “Of course, Harry. Thank you for letting me  _be_  your friend.” She kissed his cheek again. Harry blushed and looked out of the corner of his eye to Ron. He was busy helping up Tonks after she fell off her broom.

“You’ll always be my best friend, Hermione. You’ll never need to worry about that.”

Hermione felt a tear coming down her cheek, and wiped it away before it reached Harry’s shoulder. Harry chuckled.

“I can’t believe that you just kissed Mundungus Fletcher. I can’t believe that  _I_  just kissed  _me_.”

Hermione giggled, which did strange things to Harry’s stomach, and said, “What can we believe anymore, Harry?”

Whatever reply Harry would’ve said was cut off by Mad-Eye.

“All right, then,” said Moody. “Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion’s lost.”

Everyone nodded.

“Hold tight now, Ron,” said Tonks, and Harry and Hermione saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, and Kingsley started shaking from the violent movement in the sidecar.

Harry steadied himself on the Thestral while Hermione clung a bit tighter to him. “Just like old times,” Harry whispered to her, causing her to blush.

“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One …two ... _THREE!_ ”

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and the Thestrals and brooms kicked off of the ground, and flew high into the air, getting a small, barely audible shriek from Hermione. She held him tighter, making him slightly uncomfortable. He tried to keep reminding himself that Hermione was holding him and not himself. It did feel a little weird to have Hermione’s medium and muscular arms hold on tight to him as his own breath was hitting his ear. He was sure that if it was Hermione’s form was doing this, then he would be extremely uncomfortable, and so would Hermione, seeing as her hands were so close to his waist. He looked back behind Hermione to take one last look at Number Four, Privet Drive, and knew that one thing was for certain. He definitely won’t miss it.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the Order members had risen, oblivious screams, a blaze of green light on every side. The moonlight hit them in an eerie way, almost like Vampires, each with a lust for blood and torture.

Death Eaters. Damn.

Harry silently cursed and thought quickly. He quickly looked around. The Order Members had already split up and were being chased. He swiftly raised the Thestral while Hermione pulled out her wand. Harry did so a moment later and immediately aimed at one of the Death Eaters. He almost shot an  _‘Expelliarmus’_ , but knew that he would be the only one shooting that spell, which would make him suspicious. He shot a stunner at one Death Eater, and another, and another, before he swiftly flew over the Death Eaters, who seemed to break the circle and followed the seven pairs who split up, apparently confused about which on was Harry Potter, as they all flew around randomly for a few seconds, then broke up. The Thestral seemed to know where it was going, like the Thestrals flew to the Ministry building. Harry and Hermione quickly cast spells at the dark-robed flyers that seemed to know no other spells but one.

Harry looked over to see Hagrid and Kingsley blast out of sight before they created a big black wall out of the exhaust pipe. He prayed that Hagrid was alright, and everyone else.

Quickly focusing on his task, he saw a green curse heading towards them and Harry, grabbing Hermione, leaned over just in time. They would’ve fallen over, if not for the wings on the Thestral. They pulled back up and shot together at the Death Eater with two powerful stunners, both nonverbal.

Another Death Eater behind the one who fell and turned to a stop as if he was parking a motorbike.

_“We found him! Mundungus is Potter!”_

He turned and left, not bothering to catch the still falling Death Eater.

“Where did he go?” Hermione said, her voice quivering.

Harry cursed under his breath. “Mundungus doesn’t know a lot of spells, he could never do one nonverbally, and I didn’t hold back. I’ll bet anything he’s getting Voldemort right now. We need to go faster.” The Thestral, seeming to know how much danger they were about to be in, flapped its wings harder.

“Do you think we’ll make it, Harry?” Hermione asked, her wand pointing at different areas of the night sky.

“I’m not sure…Can we apparate to Tonks’s house?” Harry said, looking around the place to where Tom was going to come from.

“Anti-Apparition wards, and I’ve never seen the house before,” Hermione said, holding her wand like a rifle, ready to pick off the first person she sees as a threat to her or Harry.

Harry’s scar suddenly appeared on his forehead and flared like white-hot fire inside of his head, almost making him drop his wand. “Get ready,” he gasped, “he’s here!”

Hermione immediately paid full attention to her surroundings and waited with bated breath. Fortunately, she was pointing to her side when two Death Eaters that appeared from under them were in wingspan length of them on each side. She was thankful that Thestrals have long wings, so she easily took out the one on the left side. Before she got to the right, she heard a whooshing sound, approaching fast. From experience, she knew what it was and immediately ducked, bringing Harry with her. The green light completely missed them, followed by another in quick pursuit, and Harry squinted back to see who shot at them from behind, his scar searing. He knew who it was before he even turned.

And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or Thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again…

Hermione shot a spell at him while Harry blindly steered the Thestral downwards, only to be swatted away like a pesky fly with a swish of his wand. Hermione turned to the Death Eater on the right and stunned him, causing him to disappear below.

The deadly jets of light passed them again, but none reaching their target. They were glad that the animal that they were riding on couldn’t be affected by the killing curse, as it was a dead horse with wings.

Harry could barely see with his scar burning, he could barely think; all he knew was that if he saw a bit of green get too close to him or Hermione, he would duck or swerve, or do anything to keep the both of them alive. His scar flashed once again in an immense amount of pain, causing him to almost lose consciousness. He could barely hear the heir of Slytherin gleefully wheeze the beginning of the dreaded curse, “ _AVADA—_ ”

As Harry tried desperately to think of how to get Hermione out of the way of the green curse instead of focusing on the rising pain on his forehead, he didn’t notice his wand hand slowly raising up like a magnet to Voldemort, his arm trembling. What fully woke him up was the bright gold fire that blasted out of his wand towards his foe. He heard a small explosion and a raspy screaming of “ _NO!_ ”

He didn’t know what happened, (but apparently Hermione did, as her green eyes almost popped out of her head) but he couldn’t look back at Voldemort. He held his left arm around the Thestral’s neck tighter and leaned forward, wishing that it would go a bit faster. He could hear the raspy screaming of Lord Voldemort.  _“Your wand, Alecto!_ _Give me your wand!”_

He saw as Voldemort started to approach him, he felt his presence coming nearer. Thinking that Hermione would be in more danger, as she was the only thing between him and Voldemort, he steered the Thestral to drop from the sky, still going forward. He looked back to see Tom Riddle flying gracefully at them, slowly raising his wand to taunt him.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

Without even thinking of what to do, acting on instinct, He pulled Hermione over the back of the Thestral and around to the stomach, falling off the Thestral and grabbing onto the front leg as he held onto Hermione’s waist. He heard a sickening pop in the arm holding the Thestral’s leg. Harry stifled a cry of pain; Mundungus was not built for strength. Seconds later, he felt his arm lengthen and become stronger. He looked over to see if Hermione was alright. If the reflection of Hermione’s glasses wasn’t playing tricks on him, he would have seen a green flash that hit the Thestral in the back (but no harm was done) and Voldemort vanishing with not even the smallest pop. Hermione was in a bit of a daze from the dizziness of being thrown across a horse, but he—or rather she—looked fine, except for the shock in her emerald eyes, looking at Harry. With relief, Harry noted that her eyes were turning into its usual chocolate brown. It must’ve meant that his arm was returning, along with the rest of him.

“How…how… _how did you do that_?” She screamed, her eyes almost as wide as her glasses.

“I’ll explain later…if I can,” Harry said, still wondering how his wand moved and shot a powerful spell by itself.

At this moment, the Thestral started lowering itself towards the ground. Harry had no way of climbing back up, as his left hand was holding the leg of the Thestral while his right arm held Hermione. The Thestral let them fall about two feet from the ground, before landing on the ground itself a few meters away to drink from a muddy pond.

Harry looked over to Hermione, for one last look to make sure she was okay. She was breathing hard, her black hair growing, muscles fading. She smiled at him. He smiled back at her, before he promptly passed out into her now shrinking arms, as the pain in his scar finally receded.


	3. Corpses and Chores

He blearily opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamp-lit sitting room. A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously, next to a familiar brown-eyed, bushy-haired witch, who was holding his hand and looking at him, relief obvious in her eyes. Harry could see dry tearstains on her cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” She quietly asked.

Harry managed a weak smile. “I’m alright. I’m not dead, so I’d call that an accomplishment.”

Hermione gave a small smile of her own. “This is Tonks’s father, Ted. I explained everything that’s happened. He told us that Voldemort disappeared because he couldn’t get within one hundred yards of this place. The Portkey leaves in four minutes.”

Harry nodded his thanks and looked at Ted. “Hello, Mr. Tonks.”

The man shook his hand and said, “Hello, Harry. Do you still have a fever?”

Harry was about to reply when a woman came up behind Ted and put a cold wet cloth on his forehead. At first, a pang of fear came across him, but once he saw the light brown hair and eyes that didn’t have a manic gleam in them, he relaxed and came to the conclusion that this was Bellatrix’s sister. Hermione must have seen the small terror in his mind, as she gently squeezed his hand.

“I’m Andromeda,” the woman said, “but we don’t have time to talk. You two have a Portkey to catch.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, and Harry got up and followed Hermione and Andromeda along a short hallway and into a bedroom, never letting go of Hermione’s hand.

“There you go, son. That’s the Portkey.” Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table.

“Thank you,” Harry said to them as he and Hermione placed a finger on the Portkey.

They waited a few more seconds, before the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and a familiar jerk behind the navel following.

A few seconds later, Harry and Hermione’s feet hit the ground hard and they fell on their knees in the backyard of the Burrow. He heard screams. Harry quickly stood up and dropped the hairbrush. He helped Hermione get to her feet as well before Mrs. Weasley and Ginny ran down the steps by the back door.

“Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?” cried Mrs. Weasley.

“No one else is back?” Hermione asked, swaying slightly, but the fear was clearly heard in her voice.

“The Death Eaters were waiting for us,” Harry told her, “We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was tonight – Snape probably knew – I don’t know what happened to anyone else, and then Voldemort showed up. How many Portkeys showed up already?”

“Two,” she said shakily. “Ron and Tonks should have been here first.” She said, looking at the rusty oil can, as if afraid to point at it.

Ginny was pale for a second before she spoke. “Dad and Fred were supposed to show up with that shoe.” She pointed to it on the ground. “But I thought Hermione—”

Her question was interrupted by a flash of blue light in the darkness, larger and brighter, until Lupin and George appeared, spinning, then falling. Harry immediately knew that something was wrong. Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood. Harry let go of Hermione’s hand, ran forward and grabbed George by the legs. Together, he and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the living-room, where they laid him on the sofa, Molly, Ginny, and Hermione following. A lamplight fell across George’s head. Ginny and Hermione gasped as Harry held his stomach, hoping nothing will leave it; one of George’s ears was missing.

Before Harry could ask a question, Lupin grabbed his and Hermione’s arms and dragged them into the kitchen.

Lupin approached Harry first. “What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?” he said, giving Harry a small shake. “Answer me!”

“A grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?”

Lupin released Harry and turned to Hermione, who obviously expected this, as she was waiting patiently for her question. “Tell me something only Hermione Granger knows.”

“I used a time-turner in third year, I helped Harry and Ron save Sirius, my patronus is an otter, and I detest Divination.” She answered immediately. Lupin looked at Harry for confirmation.

Harry grinned and nodded. “’Cause no one believes in prophesies and the grim.”

Hermione grinned back and then a look of seriousness crossed her face. “Someone betrayed us,” she began, “and Snape didn’t know about it,” she added as Harry opened his mouth to speak.

Harry sighed. “They knew exactly when we were going to leave,” he mused, “and the only person I know that would even think of betraying us is Mundungus. I’m just glad that Voldemort caught up with us at the end. I couldn’t have handled him if it was any sooner.”

“Voldemort caught up with you?” Remus asked, his back against the wall of the kitchen, leaning slightly. “What happened? How did you get away?”

And Harry explained how he sent a nonverbal stunner at a Death Eater, which must have tipped the other one off. He fell back and then Voldemort came a minute later, flying without any support. Hermione told about how Harry’s wand raised and shot golden fire out of his hand, destroying Voldemort’s wand. She explained how Voldemort got another wand and shot the green curse at them, and Harry’s quick thinking after that.

Remus stared at Harry in awe. “How did you do that?”

“Too much adrenaline and luck,” Harry said.

“And agility,” Hermione continued, “and strength, and bravery, and brains and…”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Harry said, more embarrassed with each praise. He decided to change the subject. “Will George be okay?”

“He’ll be okay, but it’s been cursed off.”

Harry only knew of one dark cutting curse, which made him become more furious at the hook nosed greasy git known by some as Snivellus Snape.

He was about to voice his thoughts before he heard scuffling in the yard. Lupin dived for the back door while Harry and Hermione sprinted into the yard.

Two figures appeared in the yard, and Harry instinctively knew who the first figure was. He ran over to Hagrid and hugged him before Remus got there. He couldn’t hear what Kingsley said to Remus, when Hagrid boomed, “Harry, yer still alright!”

“I can see you’re still alive too, Hagrid,” he said as Hermione ran over to Hagrid’s other side and hugged him.

Harry heard the great baritone of Kingsley yell, “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they  _knew_  it was tonight!”

“So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”

“Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”

“Only Harry, Hermione, George, and me.”

“What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley.

“Followed by five, injured one, might’ve killed two,” Kingsley reeled off, “and Hagrid knocked a couple off their brooms. We saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can—”

“Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too; he came after Hermione and me.”

“So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley, “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him change targets?”

“Disguised as Mundungus, I sent a nonverbal stunner at a Death Eater.”

“Well I probably would’ve done the same thing, but I certainly wouldn’t have lived if I actually had to confront him. I’ll ask how you two escaped later.”

Hagrid looked around. “Where’s George? I ‘adn’t seen im!”

Harry and Hermione finally let go of the half-giant as Hermione quietly said, “He’s lost an ear.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes widened. “He what?” He spoke, his baritone voice raising slightly.

“I think it was done by Snape if the curse was  _Sectumsempra_ ,” Harry said.

Remus scowled. “You’re right. He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood.”

Harry finally remembered something that George didn’t show up with, and a tear fell from his eye as he already knew the answer to the question that he already knew the answer to. He needed to ask, at least. For her sake.

“Remus,” he said shakily. Hermione notice his eyes were now filled with tears and walked over to him. She put slipped her hand in Harry’s as he asked, with his head down, “Where’s Hedwig?” Hermione gasped. She had forgotten about Hedwig.

Remus immediately dropped his head in shame. He was hoping that Harry would ask a little later, after everyone arrived. “When—” he started hesitantly, realizing how close Harry was to his familiar, “When George’s ear was cut off, he tried to cover the place where his ear was, forgetting what he was holding. The cage smacked against his head, and he screamed, and threw the cage in pain, and I guess, frustration. Then we both heard a screech and realized what he did. He tried to make me steer the broom down to catch her, but unfortunately, the other five Death Eaters heard the screech too, and they all…” he stopped and looked up at Harry, who’s face was tear-filled as he landed on his knees, still holding Hermione’s hand. Hermione kneeled down on one knee and put her arm around him. She, too, had tears streaking down her face at the thought of five Death Eaters shooting the dreaded green curse at the beautiful snowy owl.

Hagrid started bawling. He pulled out a handkerchief that rivals a tablecloth and wiped his eyes. They were in silence, mourning the loss of Harry’s familiar, the white amber-eyed angel who’s been with him since his life changed completely. Harry slowly stood up after the elongated moment of silence and they quietly walked back into the house to keep his mind off of his best animal friend and first ever friend, now dead. He walked into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean gaping hole where George’s ear had been.

“H-how is he?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it could’ve been so much worse…He’s alive.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Thank God.”

“Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked, eyeing Harry and Hermione suspiciously.

“Hagrid and Kingsley just got here,” said Hermione, thinking why Ginny was looking at them like that.

“That’s good,” Ginny whispered as she looked at them for a few more seconds for seemingly no reason, then turned away to look at her brother. Harry and Hermione were about to walk to a couch before they heard a loud crash from the kitchen.

“I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now  _back off if you know what’s good for you!_ ”

Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He understood his pain, as he himself would have jumped on a broom and sped off at the slightest chance of Hedwig being alive. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.

“Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”

“How is he?” They both asked frantically, then their eyes set on the palest figure in the room.

Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.

“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley.

George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. “Saintlike,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”

“Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred’s pale face. “Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go forholey?”

“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tearful mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.” He looked around and his eyes set on Harry. “I…I’m sorry, Harry,” He said as his face dropped. “I didn’t know what happened…I wasn’t thinking straight…I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said as he walked over to George. “If I should blame anyone, it’s Snape.”

“Why is George apologizing for getting his ear cut off to you?” Mrs. Weasley asked curiously, and Harry could sense a bit of anger in her voice.

Harry whispered silently, “Hedwig’s dead.”

The entire room gasped at that information, and Harry and Hermione left the kitchen and went outside, not wanting to see their reactions.

When they were walking, Hermione squeezed his hand and asked, “Are you alright, Harry?”

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Harry said softly. Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her other hand around his elbow. She knew that he only needed comfort at the moment. She would happily give it to him.

Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room. Hagrid and Lupin stood gazing upward in silence. None of them looked around when Harry and Hermione joined their silent vigil.

The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members or Ron might leap unscathed from its leaves…and then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground.

“It’s them!” Hermione whispered in a thankful breath. 

Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere. “Remus!” Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Remus’s arms as Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as Harry and Hermione broke apart and ran to him. Hermione gave Ron a loose hug as Harry patted his back.

“I was worried,” Hermione said as she pulled back from her hug. She then hit him on the shoulder. “Try scaring people like that again, Death Eaters won’t be who you’ll need to worry about.”

Ron smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for being worried for me.”

“Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom—”

“Really?” Harry asked in surprise as Hermione smiled a satisfied smile.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily. “Are we the last back?”

“We’re still waiting for…” Harry counted off with his fingers, “…Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus. So why didn’t you two come with the Portkey?”

“Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry. She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus. Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us. So anyway, what happened to you lot?” She asked as she turned to Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley.

Harry and Hermione told them what happened to them as they stared wide-eyed at their story, except Lupin, but he was grinning like mad at Harry. Ginny joined them halfway through and they all gasped when they heard what Harry did at the end.

They were quiet for a moment after Kingsley finished, before he broke the silence. “I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street; I should have been there an hour ago. “Let me know when they’re back. And Harry,” he said with a small smile, “Dumbledore  _and_  Mad-Eye would be proud.” He turned and walked beyond the boundaries as everyone heard a small  _pop_  of apparition.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came outside to see their youngest son, running faster to go hug them.

“Ronald, what took you? We thought you were dead!”

Ron’s explanation was cut short by a Thestral that flew into sight, Its great wings flapping, making it look like a unicorn in the night without a horn. The Thestral landed a few feet in front of them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back, tired, but no fresh marks were seen.

“Bill! Thank God,” Mrs. Weasley cried as she ran towards Bill, who was frowning. “Thank God!” She gave him a crushing hug that he didn’t return. He seemed empty for a moment before he looked straight at his father and spoke in a cold, empty voice.

“Mad-Eye’s dead.”

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever. He thought of Moody as a mentor, almost. He was never taught by Moody, but he had the feeling earlier that night that Moody would think of him his apprentice—if given the chance.

“We saw it,” said Bill. Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort—he can fly—went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and – there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail…”

Bill’s voice broke.

“Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” Lupin said shakily. They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it couldn’t be…Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor…

At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley back to the Burrow. Hermione got closer to Harry and could see the emptiness in his emerald eyes, the shade somehow duller. She wordlessly and tenderly wrapped her fingers around his arm and pulled herself closer to him. Harry felt a teardrop trickling down his arm and put his arm around Hermione to pull her closer.

They walked through the kitchen and into the living room, where Fred was laughing and George was forcing a chuckle.

“What’s wrong?” said George, scanning their faces as they entered, “What’s happened? Who’s—?”

“Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Weasley, “Dead.”

The twins’ grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry knew, his favorite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some glasses.

“Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft.

“Mad-Eye.”

“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank. Hermione grudgingly let go of Harry to drink her own.

“Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The Firewhiskey seared Harry’s throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.

“So, what I suspected was right? I mean Mundungus  _did_  disappear,” said Harry, his voice a little louder than usual.

The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Harry, hearing the venom in his voice at that statement. Both wanted him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harry’s, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you haven’t been told, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and Voldemort went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic.”

“You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley—”

“Yes, and zat eez all very good,” snapped Fleur, “but still eet does not explain ‘ow zey know we were moving ‘Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must ‘ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze ‘ole plan.”

She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry glanced at Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in exchange for a dragon’s egg…

“No,” Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: his loud voice seemed to not fit him. Harry would have to change that. “I mean…if somebody made a mistake,” Harry went on, “and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do it. It’s not their fault,” he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. “We’ve got to trust each other. I trust all of you; I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.” Harry saw Remus shaking his head slowly. Harry thought he knew why. “I don’t believe that there is a Pettigrew here, because you all did this dangerous mission. Did Peter ever do something like that?” he asked, looking in Remus’s general direction.

More silence followed his words, except for Remus shaking his head somberly, his neck scratching against his collar. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore’s willingness to trust people. Harry figured that as long as he continued constant vigilance, he could trust anyone he wanted to, but he couldn’t let his guard down around anyone either.

“Well said, Harry,” said Fred unexpectedly.

“Year, ‘ear, ‘ear,” said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

“Well said, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, smiling a little that warmed his stomach more than the firewhisky did.

Remus turned to Bill and said, “There’s work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether—”

“No,” said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”

“Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together.

“Mad-Eye’s body,” said Lupin. “We need to recover it.”

“Can’t it—?” began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

“Wait?” Bill interrupted with an appalled look at his mother. “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?”

“Unless they already took it, at least the eye,” Harry said. “It doesn’t hurt to check. I’d join you, but I have a feeling that no one here will let me.”

Lupin smiled at his surrogate son and said, “We wouldn’t let you come with us.” Bill and Lupin bid their good-byes and left.

The rest of them dropped into chairs, except Harry and Hermione, who leaned on the wall. Hermione tried to start a conversation with a question that she had been wanting to ask for ages. “Harry, how did you blast that flame at Voldemort?” The room shuddered at the name.

Harry sighed while he felt a twinge in his scar. “I honestly don’t know. I was almost unconscious. I think the wand moved on it’s own towards him. I didn’t even notice my hand move until the fire came out of my wand.”

Hermione was in confusion. Wands don’t act like that and they never had the history of acting like that. Hermione decided not to voice her concerns, and to give Harry a chance to explain. “Do you know how that happened?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was because I have his brother wand,” he said.

The room gasped at this statement. Harry just realized that he never told them about the connection. He may as well say the rest. “We both have a phoenix feather core wand,” he said as his scar was still burning, “but it came from the same phoenix, Dumbledore’s familiar, Fawkes.”

The whole room gawked stupidly at him. His scar flared even more. He put his hand on his forehead, hiding his hand from his finger, which was delicately tracing is scar with his finger so Hermione could easily see and no one else. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Hermione as he slowly walked out of the sitting room, her following, conjuring a dry cloth.

As Harry and Hermione walked outside, he heard Hermione muttering “ _Aguamenti_ ” and light trickling of water. Hermione handed him a now wet cloth and said, “It won’t subside the pain a lot, but—”

Whatever she said was lost to him as his scar flared at its peak. He clutched at his forehead and closed his eyes, hearing a voice that was by now, very familiar to Harry.

“You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!”

And into his mind’s eye burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a stone floor, screaming, a horrible drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony…

_“No! No! I beg you, I beg you…”_

_“You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!”_

_“I did not…I swear I did not…”_

_“You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!”_

_“I swear I did not…I believed a different wand would work…”_

_“Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!”_

_“I cannot understand…the connection…exists only…between your two wands…”_

_“Lies!”_

_“Please…I beg you…”_

_And Harry saw his white hand raise his wand and felt Voldemort's surge of vicious anger, saw the frail old main on the floor writhe in agony—_

“Harry!”

Suddenly, he flashed out of the vision as fast as he had entered it. His eyes opened and looked up, noticing that he was shaking against two figures he was leaning on who he recognized a few seconds later as Ron and Hermione, the latter’s arm around his waist, holding him tightly. His scar was still tingling, and a damp cloth was folded and placed on his forehead by Ron, who was applying pressure to it.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked with a quiver, her eyes leaking.

He looked over to Hermione and tried to form a small smile, but couldn’t, seeing her tear-streaked face. He said, “Yeah, better than Ollivander at least. He’s being tortured by Voldemort right now.”

“How do you know, mate?” Ron asked curiously.

“The scar,” Harry explained in two words. “Anyway, Voldemort knows about the brother wands, now. He’s trying to get Ollivander to talk right now. I think that was Lucius’s wand I destroyed. He thought that if he used another wand, there’d be no surprises.” He gave a feeble grin. “He was wrong, it seems.”

Hermione held him even tighter and led him back into the house. “I thought he couldn’t enter your head anymore.” She whispered frantically.

“Hermione, I don’t think he used Legilimency on me. He’s supposed to be a master Occlumens, yet I can easily read his mind. I think he sent the vision through my scar, on accident, I’m sure. He does that when he gets a powerful feeling.”

“I’m going to look that up,” Hermione replied with a determined look, “but he’s taking over the Ministry, the newspapers and half the Wizarding world! Don’t let him inside your head if you can fight it!”

Harry agreed with a silent nod as they walked back into the house in silence.

**< HP><DH><HP><Take—Two><DH><HP><DH>**

The shock of losing Mad-Eye and Hedwig hung over the house in the days that followed; Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news, and occasionally remind people of his mantra of constant vigilance. Harry felt that nothing but action would lessen his feelings of guilt and grief for Mad-Eye Moody and that he ought to set out on his mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.

When he voiced this concern with Ron at breakfast when they were the only two at the table, Ron replied, “Well, you can’t do anything about the” – he mouthed the word Horcruxes – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”

“No, but I have an idea of where one might be,” Harry admitted. “I’m not telling anyone incase I’m wrong, though.”

Ron seemed to accept that answer. “I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” he said a moment later. “She’s been going non-stop since she got here. Couldn’t even talk to me unless she says ‘hey’ and ‘good night’. Ron muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘mental’.

Harry silently made a note to ask her not to overstress. “Well, the Trace will break on the thirty-first,” Harry mused, “So we’ll only have to stay here for four, wait, five days. Then we can leave, right after the wedding. Is Mrs. Weasley asking questions?”

“All day, every day” Ron said with a sigh, “until you showed up. She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”

Harry expected Ron to say this, and Harry prepared for it, mentally countering every question she might and will throw at him. Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she thought might have come out of his bag. Once she had him cornered in the tiny scullery off the kitchen, she started.

“Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of Hogwarts,” she began in a light, casual tone.

“Yes, we are, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry easily said, focusing his eyes on Molly’s brown ones.

“May I ask why you are abandoning your education?” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Dumbledore left me a job to do, and Hermione and Ron wanted to help,” he replied, not breaking eye contact with her.

“What sort of ‘stuff’?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And Mrs. Granger would agree!” said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry smirked. “Actually, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione’s parents respect her privacy, and I thought you would, too. If you don’t want Ron to go, then it’s not my choice. Technically, since Ron’s of age, shouldn’t he be the one to decide to tell you or not?” In truth, the picture Hermione already told him about her plans when he was still at the Dursleys, and Hermione confirmed that they were already done when he brought it up that morning. Hermione had altered her parents’ memories and, at the moment, they were residing in Australia.

He took another look at the sock. “And I don’t support Puddlemere United,” He said as he left the gaping woman and went back up to his room before she could say another word.

From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept them all busy with wedding preparations. Harry knew immediately that she was just trying to separate them, but he was one step ahead. He kept his cloak in his pocket while doing the preparations, and thanks to the many years of chores he had to do all of his life, it only took him half the time than the others to do his load of the work. When he was done, he’d place on the cloak and help out either Hermione or Ron (mostly Hermione) and talk to them for about ten minutes, then return to the place he was working for Mrs. Weasley to walk in and give him another assignment.

“Harry, how are you working this fast?” Hermione asked him the third time he visited her.

“I just pretend that Mrs. Weasley would hit me in the back of the head with a frying pan if I didn’t finish quickly enough,” He said absently. He just realized what he said when Hermione gasped and fumbled the box of Fireworks that she confiscated from Fred and George’s room on Mrs. Weasley’s orders. Thankfully, she didn’t drop it.

“W-why would you think that?” Hermione asked, knowing and fearing the answer.

“Umm…” Harry tried to think fast, trying to get a way out of this one. Then he sighed. He knew that she would find a way to get him to tell her anyway, and besides; she knew him well enough to know when he was telling a lie. “Well, I guess it’s because it always worked at the Dursleys.”

Hermione turned her head away from Harry for a moment, and Harry swore he could hear a sniffle. After about a minute of standing there, she asked, “I hope she gave them a good screaming.” No one could mistake the venom in her voice.

“Well, you had a good rant ready, but my rant took up too much time. Sorry,” He mumbled to her. And that’s what he gets for telling the truth.

Hermione immediately softened. “Harry, I don’t care who yelled at the Dursleys. I just wanted them to get yelled at. I’m glad you did, considering you were the one that was raised by them.”

Harry chuckled. That was close to what P. ‘Mione said. Before he could say anything, Hermione said, “but the next time I cross paths with them, they’ll wish they stayed at Number Four. Voldemort’s more merciful.”

Harry chuckled at Hermione until he realized that she was serious.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt sorry for the Dursleys.

After two days of this, Harry was getting irritated, so he started preparing everything in sight; de-gnoming, cooking, cutlery cleaning, and any other nonsense that she would usually ask for. By the pace that he was going, he could guess that he could be done by the morning of his birthday.

“I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving,” Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay.

“It won’t work,” said Harry confidently, not giving her eye contact. “We’re still leaving. Even Mrs. Weasley can’t stand up against Hermione Granger’s schedules.”

Ginny smirked a little and looked up at Harry, who was quickly placing the utensils on the table. She knew that he had been avoiding her ever since he broke up with her; however, in her mind, it meant their relationship was on hiatus. For some reason, or was it her imagination, that he and Hermione had spent an awful lot of time together lately. She knew that Granger was absolutely no match for her, but she also knew that she had little to no time until he left. A boy has needs and will be desperate for the closest girl near him after a while, meaning Hermione. She would make sure to give him something to remember her by…

Meanwhile, Harry was contemplating in his mind as why he didn’t think of Ginny any more than a friend. Ginny is right here,  _right here_  in front of her. He could, at any time, go around the table to hold her… to kiss her… he knew she wanted him to… but oddly, he had no desire to do so. It almost disgusted him. Hermione had really gotten to him, he realized. The thought that came in his mind about three and a half weeks ago was still fresh in his mind. He couldn’t see anything in Ginny except the little sister of his best friend who screamed at the top of her lungs that she saw Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, at the train station so long ago…

Ginny slightly jumped and Harry snapped out of his thoughts as the door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in.

They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place’s location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn.

-

_“And as there are around twenty of us,” Mr. Weasley said, “that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can’t expect it to hold much longer.”_

_“But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?” asked Harry._

_“Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they’ll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can’t be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky.”_

-

The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. Harry found himself crammed beside Ginny and Hermione. He didn’t know whether he was uncomfortable or very comfortable.

He decided to stick on ‘moderately comfortable’ as he asked, “No news about Mad-Eye?”

“Nothing,” replied Bill. “The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the body, but that doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days.”

“And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?” Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head. “Because they don’t want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked me, right?” Harry grinned.

“I think so. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass breakout.”

“Yeah, why tell the public the truth?” said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must not tell lies.

“Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?” asked Ron angrily.

“Of course, Ron, but people are terrified,” Mr. Weasley replied, “terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office all day; I just hope he’s working on a plan.”

“We must decide ‘ow you will be disguised, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. Harry nodded. He really didn’t want to be seen at the wedding. “Of course,” Fleur continued, “none ov our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarontee zat zey will not let something slip after zey ‘ave ‘ad champagne.”

Harry gave Fleur a look that meant  _‘I know who you’re still blaming.’_  Fleur flinched and looked away.

“Yes, good point,” said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat, reading spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. “Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?”

“No, mum.” Ron said, boredom in his voice, although Harry could see a small smile that Mrs. Weasley didn’t notice.

“Then you’ll need to do that,” Mrs. Weasley tutted. “And Harry, dear, I need you to help Arthur much out the chickens, and Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they’re arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.”

But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. “There’s no need to, er, mention it to Molly,” Mr. Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, “but, er, Muriel sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike and, er, I’m hiding—that’s to say, keeping—it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how brakes work. I’m going to try and put it all back together again when Molly’s not—I mean, when I’ve got time.”

They walked into the coup, and after a few minutes, Harry broke the silence that was occasionally disturbed by the occasional cluck.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry asked slowly, not knowing if he could go through with this.

“Yes, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, abandoning the chickens for a moment, hearing the hesitancy in Harry’s voice.

“Er, would it be alright if I… borrowed the motorcycle?”

Mr. Weasley furrowed his brow at the young man in front of him. “Harry, you can have it if you want. I’m sure you would need it for wherever you three are going, and I’m sure Sirius would give it to you. And, I think, if I’m correct, that you were to obtain this when you were seventeen, anyway. No matter, I was going to give this to you right before you guys leave.”

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sincerely.

“Now, Harry, I also have something to ask of you.” Now, it was the red-head’s turn to fidget.

“Yes?” Harry asked.

“Please…please keep my daughter safe, Harry. She’s my only daughter, and I—”

“She’s not coming with us, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sternly, not showing any regret in his voice.

“Oh  _thank Merlin_ ,” he said as he visibly deflated for a moment before he looked at Harry again, curiosity shown in his eyes. “Well, then it’s just you, Hermione and Ron?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley.”

“Why isn’t Ginny coming with you? Aren’t you two a couple now?” Harry was glad to hear that Arthur was completely curious. He wasn’t sure what reaction he was going to show after this next statement.

“I, er, broke up with her, sir.”

Arthur showed no surprise which, in turn, surprised Harry. Arthur noticed, and chuckled. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. I see you remember when I told you never to go for looks alone. I may be speaking ill of my own daughter, but remember, she liked you as the Boy Who Lived first and always. I’ve heard countless times that you don’t like the fame and privileges of the Boy Who Lived, and I’m sure that you want to be with someone who doesn’t think of you like that. She thought of you as only that since she was four. I don’t think she ever knew the difference…unlike the rest of us, of course!

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad about your decision to break up with her. However, I don’t think Molly should know yet. Maybe after you two leave I’ll tell her, so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you. Ginny hasn’t told anyone, so she must still think…well, you know.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sincerely. He did not know an Ex’s father could be so nice to him.

“Please Harry, it’s Arthur. You’ll be of age tomorrow, so there’s no point of still calling me that.”

“Er…okay, Arthur.” To say that it would be weird sensation would be a major understatement.

“Now, hopefully you’ll make the right choice on a girl. Just because you’re in a war, doesn’t mean you can’t have a plan beyond it.” And with that, he moved back to the chickens. And while Harry was feeding one, he could’ve sworn that he heard Arthur say, “I just hope Ron can accept it.”

When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom.

“I’m almost done, I’m—! Oh, it’s you,” Ron said in relief, as Harry entered the room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated, telling by the wrinkles. The entire room had been cleaned and straightened out by Harry two days ago, knowing that Mrs. Weasley would tell Ron to do it sooner or later. The only sign of a mess was a pile of clothes at the end of the bed, intentionally put there by Harry in case he needed to look like he was cleaning by picking up some clothes in the pile. He also changed the sheets for the guest room yesterday which was why Hermione was sitting in the far corner of the room with Crookshanks at her feet, sorting books into two enormous piles. The fluffy ginger cat trotted over to Harry and walked between and around his legs, tickling them.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said as she watched Crookshanks and Harry, smiling.

Harry carefully walked over to the corner where Hermione was vacating, careful not to step on Crookshanks, and sat down next to the books. “Hey,” he said, looking over at the books. He noticed some of them were his own, including (he had to hold back a laugh) Hogwarts, A History. “Where are those Horcrux books you told me about?”

Hermione looked at Harry quizzically—she didn’t talk to him about that yet. Then realization dawned on her when Harry softly patted his pocket. She rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something that was recently deceased.

“This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux.” She said as she handed it to Harry. “Secrets of the Darkest Art – it’s a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library…if he didn’t do it until he was Headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instructions he needed from here.”

“When did you get that book?” Ron asked curiously.

Hermione shrugged. “After his funeral, I said, ‘ _Accio_  Horcrux books’ and they just flew to me into the girls’ dormitory. I was desperate for answers.”

Harry flipped through the book. “These are some really dark and gruesome curses,” he said, wide-eyed. “And I bet Voldemort knows all of these.” He finally found the section on Horcruxes. “It also says that your soul will become extremely unstable even if you make one Horcrux. I do remember Dumbledore saying that he’s above ‘usual evil’. The only way for the soul to be put back together is to…feel sorry for what you’ve done? I know for a fact that we’ll be doing this the hard way.” Ron and Hermione chuckled at this. “The way to destroy a Horcrux—he tenderly flipped through the pages, “—is to use something so destructive that it can’t repair itself. Like Basilisk venom, apparently. I wonder if the Killing Curse would work. Of course we won’t use the curse,” he added quickly, seeing Hermione about to reprimand him “but it was just a thought.” He looked back down to read the next few paragraphs. “And a Horcrux is very vulnerable if it is in an object that can easily be destroyed, like a diary if Ginny just threw it in the fire.” He said, not noticing Ron pale.

“I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring, though?” Harry quietly asked. “There was a crack in it. It had to be a really powerful spell.”

Ron and Hermione were in thought for a few seconds before Ron gave up and broke the silence. “Oh yeah, Harry, I forgot to show you something!” He stood up and said, “C’mon.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, handing the book back to Hermione and following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.

“Descendo,” muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open drains.

“This is where your ghoul lives?” Harry asked curiously, who had never actually met the creature that sometimes disrupted the silence of the Burrow aside from loud bangs from the twins’ room.

“Yeah,” said Ron, climbing the ladder. “Come and have a look at him.”

Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.  

“But it…it looks…are you disguising the ghoul to look like you?” he asked after he looked over the body. It was human in shape and size, and was wearing an old pair of Ron’s pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy and bald, rather than distinctly have red hair and covered in angry purple blisters. “Is that some kind of disease for people to catch if they get too close? Or at least pretend, because you let me be this close.”

“How the bloody hell did you figure all that?” Ron asked incredulously as he climbed back down the ladder, Harry following, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books.

“Well, I guessed it. It was obvious from the fact that it had red hair and your pajamas.” Harry said.

“Okay…yeah, that’s exactly what I was planning,” Ron said. Hermione smiled to herself as she kept sorting through the pile. “Once we’ve left, the ghoul’s going to come and live down here in my room,” said Ron. “I think he’s really looking forward to it—well, it’s hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool—but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he’s going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?”

“Well, I don’t know what spattergroit is, but I’m guessin’ that the side-effect is purple blisters and that it’s really contagious. It must be a pretty bad disease if you think no one’s gonna go near him.”

Ron stared at him in shock while Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Even she didn’t know what spattergroit was until Ron told her. She had to remember to study up on Wizarding first aid potions and spells.

They were interrupted when the door banged open, Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron rushed over to the foot of the bed, skidded on the pile of clothes, and hit his head on the ground wall; and Harry instinctively pulled his wand out of his front pocket and pointed it at a steaming Mrs. Weasley. Sighing, he put his wand in his pocket, but he did catch her flinch.

“I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest…but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.”

“Oh…we’re sorry,” Hermione said as she calmly got to her feet and carefully extracted herself from the books, looking in Harry’s direction, who gave a small smirk. His hand was hidden from Mrs. Weasley as pointed out three fingers. She gave a small nod and a smile as she left with Mrs. Weasley.

Ron was confused about the entire exchange. “What was that about?” He asked when she was out of earshot.

Harry simply padded over to where Hermione sat and carefully looked over the books. When he finally understood the order Hermione placed them in, he started picking up the books and added them to the pile, hoping he was placing them in the right order. A few seconds later, he answered.

“I sorted the presents last night, all night. She’s coming back in three minutes.”

The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’ clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.

“ _Maman_!” cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. “ _Papa_!”

Monsieur Delacour bounced towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, and kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.

“You ‘ave been so much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you ‘ave been working very ‘ard.”

“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”

Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.

“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.”

Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too. “Enchantée,” she said. “Your ‘usband ‘as been telling us such amusing stories!”

Mr. Weasley laughed, but was cut short by Mrs. Weasley’s glare, then took the look of a man who had just visited a morgue.

“And, of course, you ‘ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly. Hermione looked around in the garden, pretending not to see what had happened.

The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids’ shoes (“Charmant!”). Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.

On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour’s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy’s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.

“But she still won’t leave us alone!” snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.

“Oh, good, you’ve fed the chickens,” she called as she approached them. “We’d better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow…to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. “Millamant’s Magic Marquees…they’re very good. Bill’s escorting them…You’d better stay inside while they’re here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry humbly.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didn’t mean—well, your safety’s much more important! Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it’s an important day…”

“I don’t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, trying to loosen the additional strain this would put on them all, even though Mrs. Weasley was adding onto it. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine! It’s the day before the wedding!”

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, dear. I’ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”

“That’d be great,” Harry smiled. “But please, don’t go to loads of trouble.”

She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Harry watched as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up.

“If she was already worried about the wedding and the birthday party, why is she adding on the stress by hassling us?” Harry grumbled.

“That’s Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione groaned, “an overprotective mother. I’m sorry, Ron, but she is tiring us out. I can’t wait until we leave!”


	4. The Wills of Marriage

_He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there, the man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held the answer, the answer to his problem…?_

“Oi, wake up.”

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron’s dingy attic room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry’s forehead was prickling.

“I was in the middle of a vision,” Harry said as he rubbed at his scar.

“So that’s what that mumbling was,” Ron said. “You said something about Gregorovitch.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “That must be who Voldemort’s going to meet in the vision, then. I guess I should tell Hermione, then. Maybe she might know who that is. He sounds so familiar to me, though…” then a smile came across Harry’s face. “I almost forgot. It’s my birthday!” He reached for his wand and said “ _Accio wand!_ ” The wand flew into his hand, giving him a feeling that he never felt before pulsing through him. Ron stared at him in disbelief for a moment, but Harry didn’t notice, as he was summoning his glasses.

He continued moving things throughout the room until Ron held out a present for Harry. “Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.”

“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’s pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with...well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised; it’s not all aboutwandwork, either.”

Harry felt a brief pang of guilt, for he had a fair guess on who Ron was about to say. He put himself out of those thoughts. Why should Ron choose? Shouldn’t Hermione? He was determined to let Hermione be the one to choose, not Ron. He followed Ron down stairs.

When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.

“Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”

Harry was hugged from behind, and a tender kiss on his cheek proved who it was. Harry noted that her lips were softer than Ginny’s.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Hermione said. She pulled out a gift and handed it to Harry.

His cheeks slightly pink, he opened the package to reveal a Sneakoscope. He whispered “Thanks. Merlin knows we’ll need this for a while. How you keep me alive, I don’t know…” He then went to opening the presents, not noticing the blush on Hermione’s cheeks, the narrowed eyes on Ron’s face, and the discomforted look on Molly’s. He contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ‘ave,” Monsieur Delacour assured him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want...ozzerwise you might find you ‘ave a leetle less hair zan you would like…”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.

“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking half Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “Thanks for doing the wash for me, Harry, you really are a life-saver—”

Harry’s blushing and response was cut short by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing. “Harry, will you come in here a moment?”

Ron and Hermione came to an abrupt halt, and Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. They both slowly walked away as Harry nervously and slowly walked into her room, not making eye contact. He didn’t expect this, not today. He had to do it, now, before she got any ideas. Before he could say anything, Ginny closed the door and spoke first.

“Happy seventeenth.”

Harry looked straight back at her and forcibly smiled. “Thanks. I see you have better taste than Ron,” Harry said as he looked away towards the Holyhead Harpies’ Captain on the poster. He saw that there was a Wizarding picture of him on the quidditch pitch – from his early years, he noted – next to her bedside. He also noted that there was a large crack in the glass. Closer inspection would tell him that the crack was the same shape as a lightning bolt. He put it off as her being mad at him for breaking up with her in the first place.

She smiled a little. Her face then dropped as she said, “I couldn’t think of what to get you.”

“That’s okay, it’s not like I’m used to getting presents from someone every year,” he joked. To tell the truth, he didn’t even notice Ginny was not downstairs.

“I didn’t know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn’t be able to take it with you.” He noticed that she took a step closer to him. She was already too close for comfort. “So then I thought, I’d like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you’re off doing whatever you’re doing.”

He knew where this was going; and he didn’t particularly like it. “And if I do?” he challenged.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” She asked bluntly.

“Ginny,” he started in a soft tone, “I hope you noticed that I’m not your boyfriend anymore.”

Her eyes went wider than saucers. “What do you mean?” She asked again.

Harry stepped closer and put his hands on Ginny’s shoulders. “Ginny. We broke up. I’m not your boyfriend anymore. We are through. I know you’re thinking that I’ll come back to you after all this is over. You’re wrong, Ginny. We will most likely—no, definitely never be together again. I want you to move on. You can get any bloke you want, I’m sure. Sorry to say that one of those guys isn’t me. Try Neville; he likes you a lot.”

Ginny started sputtering. “But I…I love you…”

“Are you sure? Or do you love the Boy Who Lived?”

Ginny started angrily, “I—” but she stopped suddenly, wondering what he meant by that. “Harry… you and he are the same person.” She explained this as if she were talking to a small child.

Harry sighed and walked towards the door. Just as he touched the knob, he turned back towards her. “No, they’re not. I’m sorry, Gin.” He opened the door to find Ron about to open it. Harry looked relieved; Ginny wouldn’t continue this pointless argument in front of her brother. Without taking a glance at Ginny or Ron, he walked out of the room, and swore that he saw a thin string of flesh round the corner.

He shrugged and walked outside, Ron following. When they got outside and onto the back lawn, Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder rather roughly.

“What happened?”

Harry turned around to face him and smacked his hand away. “I broke up with her.”

“What?” Ron said as he rubbed his hand. ‘Dammit, Harry must have gotten stronger,’ Ron thought. “You already did that!”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t hear me that time.”

By this time Hermione walked up to them with a curious expression, although a smile was tugging the corners of her mouth. “Harry, what hap—?”

But Ron put up a hand to silence her.

“You mean you broke up with her for real? Why?”

Harry frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What?” Ron asked in pure curiosity.

“You don’t just put your hand in people’s faces, Ron.”

“You’re ignoring the question!” Ron snapped, not seeing the smile of gratitude to Harry from Hermione, replacing the scowl she had earlier towards Ron.

Harry replied, “I broke up with Ginny and I probably won’t ever get with her again, even by the off chance I live through all this.”

“Harry, don’t talk like that,” Hermione said fiercely. “When we leave, I don’t want to hear you talking about not winning anymore. Ron and I will make sure that you survive this journey and this battle!”

Harry smiled at her. “Thanks, but I want you two to survive also. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Ron cooled down and grudgingly said, “Yeah, well, we couldn’t live without you either. Literally. We’re attached to you, Potter.” He finished with a grin as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Harry smiled at his (hopefully) friends-for-life. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ginny did not try to seek another one-on-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day, although he saw that her eyes were a little red and puffy. With a smile, Harry also noticed that Hermione had been in a considerably lighter mood after they talked in the backyard. Or was it since he officially broke up with Ginny? Nevertheless, Charlie’s arrival came as a relief to Harry. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut. Harry was confused by this statement. Couldn’t Charlie grow his hair back as he did when his Aunt Petunia would make him have a haircut? He had to ask Charlie later.

As Harry’s birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow’s kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley’s ministrations, George’s wound was neat and clean, but Harry was not yet comfortable to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins’ many jokes about it.

Harry and Ron walked outside to see Hermione making purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

“Nice,” Harry and Ron said at the same time. Hermione turned her head curiously over to them as she finished turning the leaves on a crabapple tree to gold. “What?” Harry grinned. “That was a really cool spell. Aunt Petunia would have killed for it. She probably would’ve accepted magic.  _Probably._ ”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, Harry. Thanks, Ron.” She walked away, looking for another tree to charm.

Ron turned to Harry with a curious expression and Harry thought he saw a small bit of anger. “How far did you get in that book?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t open it yet.”

Ron slowly nodded and walked in the house; Harry guessed that he was going upstairs to verify.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Seconds later, Harry realized that it was his birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, “That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Harry saw Ron went downstairs grumbling and his jaw dropped as he saw the cake. He looked at Harry incredulously for a moment before shaking his head before he walked over to the table.

By seven o’clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honoured the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry’s hand, Harry thought he looked rather unhappy, while Tonks was beaming. He would ask Remus what the matter was after the party.

Harry received a mokeskin neck pouch from Hagrid that won’t open for anyone except the owner. He found out from Charlie that Norbert is a Noberta.

After a few minutes, a silver weasel patronus came from the sky and onto the table. It got on its hind legs and spoke in Mr. Weasley’s voice.

“Minister of Magic coming with me.”

The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family staring in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

“We shouldn’t be here,” said Lupin at once. “Harry—I’m sorry—I’ll explain some other time…”

He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight.

Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered. “The Minister—but why—?  I don’t understand…”

But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.

The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light. Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time that had met, scraggy and grim.

“Sorry to intrude,” said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. “Especially as I can see that I am gatecrashing a party.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake. “Many happy returns.”

“Thanks,” said Harry bitterly.

“I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour said, unphased. “Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger.”

“Us?” said Ron, sounding surprised. “Why us?”

“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private,” said Scrimgeour. “Is there such a place?” he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. “The, er, sitting-room, why don’t you use that?”

“You can lead the way,” Scrimgeour said to Ron. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.”

Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry started thinking why he came here. He couldn’t have known that they weren’t returning to Hogwarts. And he would’ve asked him to be his supporter alone, not in front of Ron and Hermione. There had to be another reason.

And then he remembered what he and the picture were talking about back at the Dursleys, of how Dumbledore always takes precautions, even if he didn’t know he was going to die. A small smile appeared cross his face as he, Hermione, and Ron bunched together side-by-side on the sofa.

Before Scrimgeour could speak, Harry started.

“Does this have anything to do with Dumbledore’s will?” he asked bluntly.

Scrimgeour nodded as Hermione and Ron stared at him in appraisal and confusion, respectively. “Yes. He left something for all of you.”

“And you waited this long to tell us? Have you been snooping through everything he left us?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, I had every right,” the Minister said dismissively. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power the confiscate the contents of a will—”

“That law was created to stop Wizards passing on Dark artifacts,” retorted Hermione, “and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?”

“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.

Harry snorted. “That’s like asking her if she wants to work for  _you_!” Hermione and Ron fake-laughed hysterically at this thought.

Scrimgeour glared at them, and Harry suspected that if he started growling, he would be perfect for Gryffindor mascot. He turned on Ron and said, “Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?”

“Me? Not—not really…It was always Harry who…” Ron looked around to see Harry and Hermione; Hermione was giving him a venomous look and Ron guessed that he would be called stupid over and over again after the meeting, but the damage was done; Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron’s answer.

“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions—his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects—were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?”

“Because Ron and I’ve gotten in enough trouble to be remembered by,” Harry said. Hermione had to stifle a laugh, and Ron had to duck his head in embarrassment.

Scrimgeour put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

“‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,’” he said in a drone. He looked through the Will for a few seconds before nodding to himself. “Yes, here we are... ‘To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.’”

Scrimgeour took out what appeared to be a lighter (who Harry for some reason wanted to call a putter-outer). Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.

“That is a valuable object,” said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. “It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you and item so rare?”

Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.

“Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students,” Scrimgeour continued, “yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that?”

“Well,” Harry mused, “I suppose it might have something to do with us being Harry Potter, his favorite student/hero, Hermione Granger, the most brilliant student of our age, and Ron Weasley, the best keeper in Hogwarts and the reason we had the Quidditch Cup for two years in a row. And we’ve all been called the Golden Trio of Hogwarts. Is that enough of an explanation?”

Rufus scowled as he looked back at the will. Harry didn’t notice Ron with a small smile and Hermione’s reddening cheeks. “‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger,” he continued from the Will, “‘I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.’”

Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.

“He...he knew I liked books,” said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve. Harry put his arm around her shoulders to both comfort her and to take a closer look, making her blush a little more and Ron slightly scowl, while Scrimgeour asked another question.

“But why that particular book?”

“I don’t know. He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”

“Did you ever—?”

“Just get on to my name,” Harry said irritably. Hermione shot Harry a grateful smile before Scrimgeour made a grunt and continued.

“‘To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’”

As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.

“Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” asked Scrimgeour.

“Technically, it is mine. I mean, I caught it,” Harry said, also wondering why he left the snitch to him.

“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?”

“Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” Hermione answered laughing a little. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!”

“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,” said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?”

Harry shrugged, Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge. He found that endearingly cute.

“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said.

“What?” said Harry and Ron together; both thought that Hermione knew nothing about Quidditch.

“Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch—” he held up the tiny golden ball, “—will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you.”

Harry’s heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could he avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister? He had to think of something fast.

“You don’t say anything,” said Scrimgeour. “Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?”

“No,” Harry said calmly, thinking of what to do. He then remembered that his wand was in his pocket.

“Take it,” Scrimgeour said quietly.

Harry shrugged with a smirk as he pulled out his wand. “Okay,” he said and with a swish and a flick, the Snitch flew out of Scrimgeour’s hands. He tried to make a grab for it, but Harry flicked it again and it soared up the stairs. Scrimgeour looked at Harry, his eyes wide, along with the others. “Where did you put it?”

“You think I would tell you? Is that all?” Harry asked as he stretched out his legs, preparing to get up until he saw Rufus with a small smirk.

“Not quite. Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”

“What is it?” Harry said uneasily, wondering why Scrimgeour was smirking. He did not bother to read from the will this time.

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.

“So, then where is it?”

“Unfortunately, that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs —”

“It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat—!”

“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” said Scrimgeour. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.” Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. “Why do you think—”

“—he left it to me?” Harry finished, breathing through his nose. “Maybe because I’m a Gryffindor?”

“Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Say ‘Voldemort’, you’re supposed to be our  _leader_ , for Merlin’s sake,” Harry said, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Let me answer your question with another one—has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Has anyone ever tried to get that close? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping downDeluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this is what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? That’s one mystery solved. People are dying—we were nearly two of them—Voldemort chased me and Hermione across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you  _still_  expect us to cooperate with you?”

“You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, standing up. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Harry’s t-shirt like a lit cigarette.

Before he could gloat, before Ron could stand with his wand out, and before Hermione could try to jump up and tackle him (not in that order) his wand flicked out of his hand. Harry, using his Seeker skills, carefully moved his arm from Hermione and caught it. He let his Phoenix wand join his other hand so two wands were facing a now shaking Scrimgeour, who was slowly backing up. When he was at a safe distance from the Boy-Who-Lived, who was still seated, he smirked.

“Now, I’ll have an excuse to arrest you. Remember that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination. You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!”

“I’ll do that once you get off your lazy arse and actually do something to earn it.” Harry slowly stood up and grinned. “And you can’t arrest us. I have caused no harm to you. Sure, I may have hurt what little pride you had left, but I don’t think I can go to jail for hurting someone’s feelings. After all—Umbridge and Draco are  free, right?” Harry looked down at his shirt for a second. “Thanks for the present, Minister. I’ll make sure to show everyone how generous you are.”

The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.

“We—we thought we heard—” began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry pointing two wands at the Minister of Magic.

“—raised voices,” panted Mrs. Weasley.

Harry smirked and threw the wand back at the minister, who fumbled the wand and dropped. Hermione and Ron were trying to contain their laughter throughout their whole ordeal, mirth in their eyes. And when Scrimgeour picked up his wand and bustled out of the room, rushing past Mrs. Weasley, who followed, they broke into laughter, Hermione standing up and leaning on Harry’s shoulder, trying not to fall down. Ron, between laughs said, “That—was—bloody brilliant!”

“Couldn’t have done it better myself,” said Hermione, wiping the tears of laughter from her face.

“Thanks,” Harry said, amused at seeing Hermione laughing at the most respected man in the Wizarding world.

A few seconds later, they heard Mrs. Weasley shout, “He’s gone!”

“What did he want?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

“Scrimgeour’s just now giving us what Dumbledore’s left us,” Harry said, “and then he started being a pain after that.”

Minutes later, outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the two objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand (save for Harry’s Snitch, which was safely in his get-away emergency bag. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and  _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and hated the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to give Harry the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, “Harry, dear, everyone’s awfully hungry and we didn’t like to start without you…shall I serve dinner now?”

They all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday” (which almost brought Harry to tears—he never heard that song sung to him before) and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field.

“Meet us upstairs after everyone’s gone to bed,” Harry whispered to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state.

About a quarter hour later, up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid’s mokeskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were the shard of Sirius’s enchanted mirror, R.A.B.’s locket, and a small pocket-sized photo album with the same color as his eyes. He pulled the string tight and slipped the pouch around his neck, then sat holding the old Snitch from the bag and watched its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione tapped on the door and tiptoed inside.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.

“Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?” said Ron.

Hermione looked over the room, and when her eyes brushed over Harry, she said, “Times change,” with a smirk. Harry smirked back. Hermione then turned to Ron. “Let’s see theDeluminator.”

Ron obliged at once. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.

“The thing is,” whispered Hermione through the dark, “we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

There was a small  _click_ , and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more. Hermione had moved to sitting next to Harry.

“Still, it’s cool,” said Ron, a little defensively. “And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!”

“I know but, surely he wouldn’t have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights! Although…”

“What if there was something else special about it?” Harry asked before another row started.

“I’m not sure about that,” Hermione said as she flipped through the pages of her new book, “but he  _did_  make it himself, so it’s probable. Harry, could you go get the snitch, there’s a chance there’s instructions in it.”

“It didn’t work,” said Harry as he took the snitch back out of his pouch. “I touched it, and I put it in my mouth—remember, I almost swallowed this before I touched it—but the only type of hint I got on it was this.” He kissed it and handed it to Hermione. Hermione, looking extremely perplexed, just looked at the snitch and gasped at the slanted words that appeared on it and immediately disappeared.

_I open at the close._

“What does that mean?” Hermione slowly said.

“Is it some kind of code for us to figure it out?” Harry asked. “I mean, when has Dumbledore ever given us a straight answer?”

“Well,” Hermione said, picking back up her book, “we’ll worry about that later. But why did he leave me a book? I’ve never even heard of this?”

“You’ve never heard of  _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_?” said Ron incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” said Hermione in surprise. “Do you know them then?”

“Well, of course I do!”

Harry was surprised for a second (for obvious reasons), before he thought of the title of the book. “Is that a book for children, ‘cause it would explain why Hermione and I don’t know about that book, since we’re Muggle-raised. And it sounds to me that everybody’s read it.”

Ron nodded. “It’s got all of these really old kid’s stories in it. ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’, ‘The Wizard and the Hopping Pot’, ‘Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump’”… Harry and Hermione chuckled at this one.

“That’s a weird name,” Harry noted, “but why did he give us the book?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, “another riddle, I guess.”

There was a crack downstairs.

“Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to re-grow his hair,” Ron said nervously.

Harry was confused for a second. When he grew his hair back, it just grew silently. He wasn’t even aware of it being back to normal until he was swatted on the head for his freakiness costing her money. He shook his head from the past. “We should still sleep, anyways,” He said as he went through the items in his bag one more time. “It’s getting late. I want to be awake and ready tomorrow. It just might be the last day we’re going to see happiness for a while.”

**< HP><DH><HP><Take—Two><DH><HP><DH>**

Three o’clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred and George standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barmy” and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these Wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot. Behind Harry, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow. Harry was rather uncomfortable. The Muggle boy whose appearance he was affecting was slightly fatter than him, but thanks to the wonders of magic, he had increased the size of his fanciest Dress Robes, the one he wore several years prior.

“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body Bird Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him. Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look!”

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the Wizards’ cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

“Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help understanding our English customs; I’ll look after them…”

“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading for the procession, he said, “Here—permetiez moi to assister vous,” to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry’s lot.

“Wotcher,” said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. “Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night,” she added in a whisper as Harry led them up the aisle. “The Ministry’s being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favors.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away Harry saw Lupin’s face fall again into lines of misery. He did not understand it; maybe it was marital problems; but there was no time to dwell on the matter. Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred’s directions as he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Harry hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking Wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck. Harry had a pretty good idea who this man was, but wondered what the charm was on his necklace.

“Xenophilius Lovegood,” he said, extending a hand to Harry, “my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?” he added to Ron and continued. “She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few Wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes—or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi.”

“Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words,” said Ron, “but I think Fred and George taught them those.”

He led a party of warlocks into the marquee as Luna rushed up.

“Hello, Harry!” she said.

“Er – my name’s Barmy,” said Harry, confused. He knew that Luna was…special, but he didn’t think anyone could see through Polyjuice Potion.

“Oh, have you changed that too?” she asked brightly.

“How did you know—?”

“Oh, just your expression,” she said. “Do you have something for me?”

Harry blinked twice and tried his best not to channel Ron. A ‘Bloody Hell’ seemed necessary at the moment. “Um – yeah,” he said as he pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed to her. “Don’t open it til you get to Hogwarts. Are you a seer?” He couldn’t refrain himself from asking.

Luna only smiled at him mysteriously.

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you get over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears. Apparently, Ron had noticed, as he kept taking small glances at her, but Harry didn’t know whether Ron thought her dress looked ugly or very pretty. He gave no signs of a frown so Harry relaxed.

Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry. Biding the Wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, “Daddy, look—one of the gnomes actually bit me.”

“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial.” Said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today—perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish—do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”

Ron shook his head, honestly trying his hardest not to laugh, and slowly walked away.

“My father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.” Luna said to Harry.

“Really?” he asked, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father’s peculiar views. “Are you sure you don’t want to put anything on that bite, though?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. “You look really nice, Harry. I thought that you would wear bright colors for luck, but you really pull it off. I wonder if she’ll appreciate it…” She said, seemingly to herself.

Before he could question her, she drifted off after her father. A second later, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

“…and your hair’s much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra.” She said. “Merlin’s beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?” she barked at Harry.

“Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barmy.” Ron explained. Apparently only the immediate Weasley Family and the Order (and Luna) knows about the disguise.

“Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn’t Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?”

“He couldn’t come.”

“Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. I’ve just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara,” she shouted at Harry. “Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She’s a good-looking girl, but still – French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long.”

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some time. When next they met at the entrance, Harry had shown a dozen more people to their places, and was beginning to worry where Hermione was. “Nightmare, Muriel is,” said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. “She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner. Dad always says she’ll have written them out of her will – like they care, they’re going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they’re—”

“Wow,” Harry interrupted, his eye’s practically bulging out at Hermione. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. Harry had never thought he had seen anyone more beautiful before. “You look…  _really_  good.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, you look quite dashing yourself” she said. They both didn’t notice the frown on Ron’s face for a few seconds.

Harry looked over Hermione’s shoulder and froze for a second. He’s seen this man before, a few years ago. He was a little jealous over him for some reason, but he didn’t know why. Now he knew.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “Krum’s behind you.”

Hermione quickly looked back at Krum, smiled and waved a little. The man approached Ron, whose ears were red, and looked at Hermione. “You look vunderful.”

Ron’s ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?”

“Fleur invited me,” said Krum, eyebrows raised.

Harry tried to shake off the feeling for a moment. He shook Viktor’s hand and showed him to his seat.

“Your friend is not pleased to see me, or is he a relative?” asked Krum, as they entered the now packed marquee.

“Cousin.” Harry muttered a little too grumpily, but Krum was not really listening. His appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. Harry wondered how much gawking everyone would do if he was out of his disguise. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat side-by-side in the second row. Ron’s ears were still scarlet. Hermione whispered to Harry, “Why did he grow a beard? It looks so…weird.”

This brought a smile to Harry’s face. “You don’t like beards?” He rubbed his chin to show his stubble of the body he borrowed.

Hermione giggled.  _‘It’s good to actually hear the original giggle.’_  “I like some beards. I kinda like  _your_  stolen beard. Not Viktor’s, though. It looks pretty silly.”

“Maybe I should grow some stubble…” he said, more to himself. Hermione blushed.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst colored robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

“Ooooh!” Hermione whispered, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. Something told him that this was the first magical wedding she had been to, also.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and Wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione took a quick glance at Harry. He was looking at Ginny. Her heart felt as it was breaking for a second, until she realized that he was roaming the aisle and just happened to look at Ginny the same time herself looked at Harry.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Harry saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”

“Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Hermione chanced to look at Harry again. He almost groaned exasperatingly. Hermione smiled and looked up at the speaker.

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?”

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet-like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Harry noticed that Hermione’s eyes were also full of tears, so he conjured a handkerchief with his wand in his pocket. He pulled out the handkerchief and handed it to Hermione, who gratefully accepted it.

“…then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired Wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired Wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly. He waved his wand again. The chairs on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and Firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

“We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. “Hermione, cop hold, let’s grab a table…Not there! Nowhere near Muriel…”

Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Harry felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. All of his jealousy disappeared when Hermione had complained about his beard, so he didn’t really care if they sat next to Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

“All right if we join you?” asked Ron.

“Oh yes,” she said, a little dreamier for Luna standards. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.”

“What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?” asked Ron as he sat next to Luna, as Harry and Hermione were seated together across.

Hermione kicked Ron under the table. Wincing and eye-watering, he didn’t hear Luna’s response.

“I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

“She’s great isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.”

Harry whispered into Hermione’s ear, “Do you want a dance, Hermione?”

Hermione looked shocked for a second, but then said, “I’d be honoured.”

Harry smiled and took her hand. They walked onto the dance floor, leaving a very flustered Ron and an approaching Viktor.

“Do you know how to dance now?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, a little.” Harry said as he put his arms around Hermione’s waist while Hermione put her arms around his neck. They both blushed at the contact, but began to sway to the music, nonetheless.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘Mione?”

Hermione blushed a bit more at the nickname, but continued. “Have you talked to the picture lately?”

“Well, I didn’t really have time, since I’m in a room with Ron. The picture ‘Mione told me not to ever let Ron see the picture, but she never told me why.”

“He might be jealous.”

“That’s what I thought. He has a book to try to win you over, you know.”

“He does? What is it?” She asked, a mix of curiosity and anger in her voice.

“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. I didn’t tell you about that, though. If you happen to mention it, just say that you saw my book while I wasn’t looking.”

“You have it, too?” Hermione asked, sounding a bit scandalized.

“It was a present from Ron and I hadn’t opened it,” Harry said immediately. “I think it’s cheating. Besides, witches are already charmed by me,” he said while forming a lopsided grin that gave her trouble swaying with him to the music, “I don’t think I have any actual charm, though.”

“You are definitely underestimating yourself with that statement, Harry,” Hermione said with a small blush.

Harry smiled again. “That’s good to hear.”

Hermione blushed a little more and rested her head on his chest. Harry smiled for a second and looked up to see Ginny a distance away, glaring daggers at Hermione’s back, as if she wanted to pull out her wand on the spot. She started to approach them until she saw Harry with a fierce look in his eyes that truly scared her. His glare spoke of power and anger, and he did not know it, but the couples immediately around him were unnerved for a moment before dancing again. His eyes flashed green for a moment. It sent a simple message. ‘Step off,  _ex_.’ Ginny whimpered a little and slowly walked away to find someone to dance with.

She would have a little  _talk_  with Hermione after the wedding, Ginny thought with rising anger.

After Harry breathed a silent breath of relief, he looked around to see an unusual sight. Ronald Weasley was dancing with Luna Lovegood. He tapped Hermione’s shoulders, trying not to chuckle. She put her head up with a questioning look before following Harry’s gaze, and smiled at the sight.

“Looks like Ron’s having fun.” She said happily.

“Looks like he is,” Harry agreed. He took another look at her. She looked heavenly, smiling like that. The words seemed to escape from his mouth, “You know, you look really beautiful.” It took all Harry could not to cover his mouth with his hands.

Hermione’s face made a new color. She gulped nervously. “Really?” She asked, mentally scolding herself for the hopefulness pouring out of her. She decided to add, “I mean, Ron’s Aunt Muriel was talking about my ankles being too skinny. I agree with her, but I want to know about my dress, mainly.”

“Hermione, Ron’s aunt talks about everyone. She even said something negative about Fleur. Believe me when I say that you look perfect. You look even more beautiful than you did at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione almost gawked at him. He had called her beautiful…twice. He thought that he was beautiful at the Yule Ball, too. “Th-thank you, Harry. It m-means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, anytime.” Harry fumbled for a moment with the back of Hermione’s shawl before he said, “Sorry for ruining the moment, but I’m pretty sure that you want to know that I had another vision yesterday morning.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little in fear, before she breathed deeply and put her head on his chest again. “Go on.”

“He was looking for a man named Gregorovitch.”

“The wandmaker?”

“Wandmaker?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I read that next to Ollivander, he’s the most famous wandmaker in the Wizarding world.”

“So it has something to do with wands again? I think it has something to do with using a wand that can beat my phoenix core wand.”

“So, what happened next?”

“Dunno, Ron woke me up.”

“He has impeccable timing, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he really does.”

“Do you know anything about a wand that’s unbeatable?”

“No…It’s the wizard that controls the wand. The wand just chooses the caster. I don’t remember it having any other special qualities.”

They elapsed into another moment of silence. Harry looked around to see Ron loosening up somewhat, still dancing with Luna. He looked to his left and saw Ginny dancing with Viktor Krum, of all people. They were close to each other, but Harry noted with a smile that he didn’t feel sad.

Hermione was in her own trance at this moment. She had always pictured this moment in her life, but never had she believed it would happen. Well, not this exactly; she had pictured Harry as a mussy-haired green-eyed lean man instead of a slightly pudgy red-head, but she wasn’t complaining, as she knew that it was Harry on the inside. She had wondered what had ever made him ask her to dance with him. Did her picture threaten him? Did she bribe him? Or did she… no, she couldn’t have…

Had she actually shown Harry that she was pretty?

If she had, she would always listen to her mother’s advice, as she was the one who bought the sundress for her. She still felt disappointed by what she had done to her parents, changing their names to Wendell and Monica, sending them to Australia, all memories of her blocked out. Her parents had understood, and had willingly asked for it all to be done, but she would remember he talk she had with her mother.

They were silent, slowly rocking to the song, until Hermione’s feet tired. Since she did not want to finish dancing, she decided to pick up a conversation with him.

“So…why  _did_  you break up with Ginny, Harry?” Harry chuckled at the way she seemed to fish for something to talk about.

“Like you don’t already know,” Harry said, still chuckling. “I saw the extendable ear, Hermione. You heard every word of it.”

Hermione blushed, and Harry could almost feel the heat on her cheeks transfer to his chest.

“I-I was curious,” She said simply.

“About what?” Harry asked, trying hard to mask the hopefulness in his voice.

“Er, I thought she was going to go telling you not to go.” Hermione said half-truthfully.

“Oh. Well, I’ll accept that answer for now, Miss Granger,” Harry said in a stern tone.

Hermione gave a small chuckle and suddenly went quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her, worried.

Hermione sighed, but not the contented sigh that Harry would like to hear, but a resigned sigh. “We have to leave soon, you know.”

“Yeah, we’ll probably have to leave tonight if my guess is right.”

“Why’s that? We need some rest, right?” Hermione asked curiously, but Harry could tell that she was still willing to leave, and he could also hear suspicion in her voice.

“Death Eaters might attack here,” Harry whispered in her ear. She would’ve shivered at his hot breath if it wasn’t for the urgent message that came with it.

“Yes, I have thought of that as a possibility,” Hermione said after a few seconds of silence.

“Why am I not surprised,” Harry muttered playfully, earning an equally playful swat on the back of his neck.

“As I was saying,” Hermione continued, “I took the liberty of packing some clothes for us and I have the bag here.” She pointed to the purse on her shoulder. Harry hadn’t noticed the bag before and was surprised when he saw that it was made out of leather and the color was green…emerald green.

“I see you have great taste in color,” Harry noted, coloring a bit. Hermione blushed also.

“Thanks,” she said. She leaned back and looked at him, her arms still around his neck, his hands still on her hips, and she wished she could stay like that forever. She gave a sly grin. “You’ve been working on your moves, Mister.”

“Which ones?” Harry asked with waggled eyebrows.

“Both,” Hermione said, looking down. She had an incredible urge to kiss him on the cheek (or the corner of his mouth), but she relented and looked down before the compulsion grew stronger.

Harry smiled at her as his stomach flipped. She looked incredibly beautiful. Who knew that pink cheeks could make her so kissable? He had planned on talking to her, to confront and ask of her real feelings for him. He couldn’t ask her then, or there would be a chance that she wouldn’t dance with him any more. He wanted it to last as long as it could and make it as enjoyable as possible.

 _‘Then why not try and make it enjoyable?’_  He asked himself. He finally decided…to hell with it.

He slowly lifted his hand up to cup her chin. She looked up at him in confusion for a second until she realized how close they were. She didn’t look back down, and Harry took that as a sign. He leaned in closer to her, keeping his eyes opened for any signal of her wanting him to stop.

She leaned in closer.

They closed their eyes at the same time.

They could’ve sworn that they saw fireworks in the corner of their eyes.

Before their lips touched, a deep baritone voice interrupted them. They opened their eyes at the same and turned around to see the source of the interruption and the ‘fireworks’. It was in the middle of the dance floor; a bright and silver lynx – a patronus, no doubt – standing on its hind legs with its mouth open. They knew it was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_


	5. Hiding for Horcruxes

It all happened in a slow motion sequence. Harry and Hermione looked at each other with serious expressions on their faces and nodded after some non-verbal communication. They stepped back from each other and quickly drew their wands. This was a time for happiness and joy for the most well-known light family in the Wizarding World. Of course Voldemort or his lackeys were going to make an appearance. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.

Hermione was about to run into the now quickly turning chaotic crowd before Harry grabbed her arm gently. Before she could question him he rose up his wand toward the crowd and yelled, “ _Accio_  Ron!” He turned towards the Burrow’s direction. “ _Accio_  escape bag!” Nothing happened for a second, just yells and shrieks and  _cracks_  of Dissapparition. Then a figure flew over the heads of everyone still there towards them—a red-haired figure. Harry caught Ron with a grunt while Hermione caught a black suitcase that seemed fairly small to pack a bunch of clothes. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and looked at her again. They nodded and Hermione turned on the spot. Harry could’ve sworn he saw either a stray curse or a perfectly aimed curse come his way, which most likely announced the arrival Death Eaters, depending on the spell that was cast by the sickly purple color. Apparently Dolohov wasn’t the only one who knew that spell. Before he could ponder this, the nauseating feeling of air leaving ones entire body overcame Harry. He felt like he was traveling through space, and couldn’t breathe. He held a tighter grip on Hermione and Ron. When his feet touched the ground, Harry chanced to open his eyes. He was on a sidewalk of a wide street. He looked over to Hermione curiously.

“We’re at Tottenham Camp Road,” Hermione said as she opened Harry’s bag a little. “It just popped into my head. Are you and Ron alright?”

Harry looked down at Ron and noticed that his head had a small scrape on it. He also heard Ron’s ragged breathing starting to ease. “I’m alright. He’s alright too, just out of it. I’m not sure if it was a stray curse or he got hit by something when I summoned him. Should I revive him?”

Hermione looked around to see nobody watching at the moment. “Yes, please do that... we need to find somewhere to change... ”

“What the bloody hell was  _that_?”

Harry let Ron on the ground so he could walk on his own after reviving him. “Death Eaters, I think, came when we left. I guess that means our little trip starts now?” Hermione nodded confirmation while Ron shook his head.

“I know that those were Death Eaters coming, but how did I fly through the air like that? And how did we get here? And where are we? And why?”

“I summoned you, Hermione disapparated us, we’re on Tottenham Camp Road, and we need to change out of this,” Harry replied, smiling at the overly curious redhead.

Hermione handed him the Cloak and some clothes. “Thanks for remembering to pack, Harry, and being prepared. I told you about my bag, but I can’t open it now... too many organized books that might fall. I suggest you put on the cloak when no one’s looking... Harry, this is an ingenious expansion charm!” She said with pride. How did you do it?”

“I asked Mrs. Weasley,” He said when they stepped into an alley. “I talked with her, and she finally decided that if we were going to go, she would make sure we were going to be prepared. She actually said she was going to start baking treacle tart tomorrow morning. Life is very unfair,” he muttered, causing Ron to laugh and Hermione to yell (in a whisper) at Ron to stop attracting attention, although he could almost feel the smile when she yelled. He put on the cloak and changed while Ron got his clothes from Hermione and she turned her back. “Where are your clothes, Hermione?” Harry asked when he was done dressing.

“They’re in the bag, but I’m not going to change until we find some place to go...  We could always go to my house, but it’s not really a safe place to go. Grimmauld Place is out because Snape can go there—”

“Wouldn’t they have protection there against Snape? It’s not like they left him a note at the front porch telling him to stay out or something.”

Hermione chuckled a bit but flinched as two drunks across the street yelled to her.

“All right, darling?” the drunkest of the men yelled. “Fancy a—?”

But he stopped in mid-sentence. Hermione looked across the street in curiosity to see that he was still yelling, but no sound came out of his mouth. She looked at Ron questionably. He shrugged. When she was about to ask if Harry did it, she heard a whisper in her ear.

“Silencing charms are a wonderful spell, aren’t they?” Hermione laughed.

“Let’s sit here,” Hermione said after a few seconds of looking at the places of where to rest, looking at an all-night café. Harry casually walked in and clipped to the first table with Hermione following, leaving Ron to sit on the opposite, his back facing the door. Harry could finally feel the Polyjuice effects wearing off and his body returning to normal. He snuck out his wand and shrunk his clothes to fit him. He put back on his glasses when Ron said, “You, know, we’re not far from the Leaky Cauldron here—”

“It’ll be easy to find us  _there!_ ” Harry whispered urgently.

“I know, but we need to know what’s going on, at least.”

“Voldemort’s taken over the Ministry. Anything else?”

“Okay... no, I guess that’s about it.”

The waitress came over and Hermione ordered three cappuccinos: she said two for her and one for Ron. Harry had to remember to thank her later, as he knew that she wasn’t going to drink two. A pair of strong looking workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. He felt something buzzing in his pocket, but he was too busy eyeing one of them suspiciously. He whispered to Hermione, “That guy looks familiar.”

She turned her head to look back at them and Harry could swear that she froze up for a second as a small wheeze came from the back of her throat, causing his heart to skip a beat. She quickly looked back, her eyes wide. “I would know that face anywhere,” She said to herself, but Harry heard her. “That’s... that’s... ”

“Who is it, Hermione?” Harry asked, worried. “Is it a Death Eater?” She slowly, hesitantly nodded. Harry looked over at the two men, who were taking discreet glances at them. He finally remembered who he was. He had to choke back a growl. “ _Dolohov_ ,” He said in a low, anger-filled voice.

Ron tensed. “W-what?” he said softly.

Hermione shushed him quickly and quietly. “Be  _quiet_ , Ron!” She whispered as Harry lifted his legs up and sat with his feet on the seat. “And don’t make a scene, Harry,” Hermione said, sensing his movement.

“It’s not like they  _aren’t_  going to,” Harry, said, his voice soft, but Hermione could feel the anger in him at the moment. Apparently, he could remember that night at the Ministry quite well. There was still a small mark on her chest from that incident. “Besides, this is just the element of surprise on our side. I’ll be right back. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” He raised himself to full height and jumped over the seat swiftly and silently. Wand still in hand, he crouched down low and whispered to Hermione, “Act normal and don’t try to leave until I cast a spell. And I would look away if I were you.”

“Harry, wait!”

“Yes,” Harry asked patiently, his eyes still focused on the ‘workmen’.

“I-... I- be careful,” She stuttered softly, tears filling her eyes.

He tore his eyes away from them and looked at her for a second. “You, too,” He said just as soft and looked back at them. He raised his wand at the Death Eaters, who were oblivious to the approaching Wizard. He took a few steps closer and pointed it at the back of Dolohov’s head. He waited until the waitress was rudely waved away from their table and let all of the anger and pure hatred that he had on Dolohov for over a year transfer into one word.

_“REDUCTO!”_

The dazzlingly bright red beam shot out of his wand and through the cloak towards Dolohov and hit him straight in the nose when he tried to face the man who chanted the spell. He was blown back brutally into his partner, his entire head now missing, his crimson blood sprayed, covering a fairly large section of the restaurant.

The waitress seemed to freeze for a moment in horror before she screamed and ran for the door.

“What the hell—Dolohov!” He said after finally figuring what happened. A beheaded figure was lying on top of him, the caster unknown, while his targets ran out of the restaurant at full speed. It looks like he wasn’t going to get paid after all.

He saw a spell that seemed to appear out of nowhere shoot at the waitress, hitting her in the back into the waiting arms of the Mudblood who he struck a year ago and took his chance. “ _Expulso_!” He yelled towards the invisible source, and was amazed and frightened to see it hitting a shield that he couldn’t see before, barely two feet away from him. He scuttled out from underneath the body before he saw a red jet coming towards him and his wand force out of his hand, seeming to stop in mid-air. Seconds later, he felt something hard and fairly big stamp his chest and he cried out painfully from the force. He started blinking fast from the pain, not noticing his wand being thrown higher into the air, and after a rustling sound, he opened his eyes wide to find the Boy-Who-Lived pointing a wand at him, and a second later, another wand that seemed to come from the sky. He realized with fright that it was his own wand.

“How did you find us?” Harry asked with a deadly calm, pointing his wand at the Death Eater’s throat. He definitely did not look like the boy he remembered before.

Ron and Hermione came back in the café, carrying the waitress. “Harry, we obliviated her, we—Harry, what did you do?!” She half-screeched. Ron was so shocked that he dropped the woman’s legs on the ground.

“I killed him,” Harry said as he took his new wand and pointed it at the waitress. With a swish and flick, the woman’s body was raised and her body was taken behind the counter and in a chair, assuming a sleeping position. His Phoenix wand was trained on the Death Eater the entire time. “Sorry you had to see his body,” He continued sincerely.

“Harry... you just can’t kill him!”

“I already did. He didn’t hesitate to try to kill you, so I didn’t when I tried to kill him. Only I succeeded. I’m sorry.”

Hermione understood his logic, but the shock of Harry killing a human being was discomforting. Would she have to get used to it? Was he going to do it again? She would have a talk with him later. “Th-that’s okay,” she stuttered as she walked over to Harry. She stopped and looked at the man who had permanently scarred her. She kicked him on the side roughly. “I didn’t see you cast the spell. I just heard you shout and I ran outside to wait. It was just a shock, is all.”

Harry nodded at her with a smile, looking at the Death Eater through the corner of his eye. “Ron, turn off the lights and close the door.”

With a bit of fumbling, then a click of the Deluminator and a click of the lock on the door, Harry’s wand ignited at the tip, showing the newly-scared Death Eater. “Look, you, I don’t know what your name is, and frankly, I don’t care. How the hell did you find us?” Harry asked the man.

The man gave a grin, but Harry could tell that he was trying to mask his fear unsuccessfully. “Never underestimate the power of The Dark Lord. He always know where you are.”

“Cut the bull,” Harry yelled as he stuck the wand to the burly man’s throat. “I don’t have the Trace on me, so tell me how you found us. I’m loosing my patience!” Harry narrowed his eyes and pushed his foot down harder, causing the man to scream. Harry sighed, frustrated as he realized the Death Eater wasn’t going to say any more. “Hermione, could you please  _Obliviate_ this guy and Ron, please start cleaning up this place. I’ll get rid of the body.” He pointed his wand at the decapitated body and said, “ _Incedio_ ,” softly. The moment the spell hit the body, Harry placed an opaque shield around him so no one could see a body burn up in flames.

By this time, Hermione carefully stepped over to Harry and pointed her wand at the man’s face. “ _Obliviate_ ,” she said nervously. The man’s eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

Harry stepped off and looked over to Hermione. “Bloody brilliant,” he said, a bit of pride in his voice.

She blushed at his praise, but before she could thank him, Ron absently noted while he was repairing the window, “You know, that looks a lot like Luna’s complexion.”

Harry and Hermione both smiled, but didn’t say anything else on the matter.

“We need to go somewhere,” Harry said as he turned off the shield. Black smoke immediately rose out, and black dust fell on the ground in a pile. Harry pointed his wand at the pile and repeatedly waved his wand. The dust swirled around and scattered around the café until they were unnoticeable specks on the floor that needed to be swept up. “I still recommend we go to Grimmauld Place.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said as she  _Scourgified_  all of the blood and turned the table back up, “but what if Snape is there?”

“We’ll just look around it. There’s three of us and one of him. And I still think that the house has protections around it. We don’t have any other choice. But I still need to figure out how they tracked us. We should at least stay there until we find out what mistake we made. It’s still unplottable, so we’re still safe. And besides, if Snape is there, we’ll have another head to mount next to the elves,” He replied with a sadistic grin.

Hermione thought for a second, then nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry,” she smiled.

Harry gave a genuine smile as he levitated the man outside and onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, well, not all of us can know everything.”

“True,” she replied as she and Ron followed, clicking the light with the Deluminator as he did so.

They turned to the waitress and Hermione reversed her spell. She immediately grabbed Ron’s arm and Harry’s hand and Dissapparated. As it turned out, Harry was getting a bit used to traveling this way now. The summer workouts did wonders; now that he didn’t have such a fragile ribcage before, he could just hold in his breath when he succumbed into darkness. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the familiar, albeit gloomy home of 12 Grimmauld Place. He walked up to it, still absently holding Hermione’s hand while Ron followed the pair, lightly scowling, and tapped his wand on the door. He could hear several clicks of metal locks and the door swung open. They slowly stepped inside, Harry going in first.

When Ron closed the door behind him, old-fashioned gas lamps sprang to life he saw the dingy, dirty, cobwebbed, yet familiar surroundings of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. “Stay close for any jinxes,” Harry said as he took a step forward.

“ _Severus Snape?_ ” The voice of Mad-Eye Moody asked from seemingly nowhere. At first, Harry thought he was delusional.  _‘He can’t be alive... can he?’_  But he came back to reality a second later. This was the trap. “Duck,” Harry yelled. They all ducked as a slight breeze blew over their heads. They stayed there for a second, Hermione using her other hand to grab Harry’s arm, for her safety or his reassurance, he did not know. Harry looked behind him to see Ron still standing, two of his fingers in his mouth. “Ron?” Harry asked in a bit of an alarm. Hermione’s head snapped back as Ron took his fingers out of his mouth.

“S’alright,” he mumbled, trying to stretch out his tongue. “Only a tongue tying curse.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and stood up slowly, Hermione coming up with him, not letting go of him. Not that he was complaining. “Is that it?” He asked. That couldn’t have been it. He took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and when Harry pointed his wand at it in a flash. A figure had risen up out of the carpet, covered in dust, or in dust color, Harry couldn’t tell; what he was worried about was the shape of the figure. Hermione gasped and clung tighter to his left arm as the figure glided toward them, faster and faster. He could even  _feel_  Ron pale behind him. It glided and it held a hand up towards Harry. Harry could see Hermione trying to step in front of him and he knew he had to act.

“We didn’t kill you, Head—!” He started calmly, but on the word ‘kill’, the apparently fake Dumbledore exploded in a huge cloud of dust. Harry quickly put up a shield so they wouldn’t be affected by the dust.

“Harry,” Hermione said, a little timidly. “That was... ”

“A dust zombie?” Harry asked incredulously. At Hermione’s confused look he continued. “I mean, this is Snape we’re talking about. A Defense Against the Dark Arts Prof—”

But he was cut off by Sirius’s mother’s portrait. “ _Mudbloods_ _, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame—!!!”_

Whatever she would have said next would never be heard. Harry pulled out a glowing, pale blue knife from his pocket, and with a deadly accuracy, he threw it as hard as he could at the portrait, slicing into her head. Her screams filled the entire house and Harry quickly ran towards the portrait and grabbed the handle. He slashed across the portrait and endured her screams until they were muffled and slowly dying. He slowly pulled out the knife, sweating a little. That was a tough portrait. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead as he looked over at Hermione and Ron and smirked at their gobsmacked expressions. “I think Sirius wanted me to do that.”

Hermione smiled at him and shook her head. “Is that Sirius’s knife?” At Harry’s nod, she walked over to him and looked at the knife. It looked the same as it did when Sirius gave it to him. “H- how did you get that fixed?”

Harry shrugged. “I just took all of the charms off of it ‘til it was a normal knife, then I cast ‘ _Reparo_ ’, and then I put the charms back on there. It was easy, really. I did it when I had some time before Mrs. Weasley came to check on me.”

Hermione groaned. “I tried every spell I could, and I still couldn’t get it. It was  _that simple_?”

Before he could apologize, a familiar flare of his scar came to him. He let out a gasp of pain. He suddenly saw a large shadow and a flash of absolute rage like electricity through his body, if only a shock.

“Harry!” A familiar voice screamed. He opened his eyes to see Hermione looking at him frightfully, not out of being scared, but concern. “Harry, did your scar... ” She stopped at his shaky nod.

“What did you see?” Ron asked, advancing on Harry. “Did you see him at my place?”

“No,” Harry gasped out, “he’s just really angry...   _really_  angry—”

“But that could be at the Burrow!” Ron yelled. “What else? Didn’t you see—”

Hermione interrupted him. “Ron,  _shut up_! Give Harry a moment! I don’t think he saw a vision. It was too short.”

Ron gave Hermione a fierce glare, but she couldn’t see, as all of her attention was focused on Harry. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry gave a shaky smile. “Ye—well, not really,” he switched courses as he saw the glare from Hermione that said  _‘Don’t you even try!’_  Hermione then smiled and led him up the steps. “Boys and their pride,” she snorted as Harry tried to lean off of her and walk up the steps on his own, only to immediately fall back onto Hermione’s embrace.

“I had to try at least,” Harry grumbled, although he liked leaning on Hermione if she let him. “Gryffindor lion pride and all that.”

When they reached the top steps, a silver patronus flew through the window and landed on the floor in front of them. It slowly morphed into a weasel, and by the time Ron reached the top, it spoke as the voice of Mr. Weasley.

 _“Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”_  The weasel then disappeared.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered as she shivered slightly in the cold room. Knowing that the Weasleys were safe, Harry’s happiness overcame the pain in his scar. He straightened up and placed warming charms around the room while Ron dropped onto the sofa unceremoniously and smiled, then he frowned. “Er, Harry, I’m sorry. I just flew off the handle a bit. I—”

“It’s alright, Ron,” Harry said, putting his hand on his forehead. “I understand. You were worried. I’d feel the same way.” He then felt a slightly damp washcloth touch his forehead. “Thanks,” he whispered, sending a grateful smile at Hermione.

“You’re welcome. It’s a curse scar, so I don’t know if it’s working. Is it?”

“A little—ah!” He gasped as the scar was reaching its peak. He fell into Hermione’s immediately outstretched arms and a much longer shock of rage split through him as he was sent into another vision. He saw a large, blond Death Eater writhing on the floor of a dimly lit room. He tried to open his mouth and speak, but it would not move. He was looking through Voldemort’s eyes, he knew. He felt another mouth open far away, and guessed that it was his own. When Voldemort finally spoke, Harry mimicked his own mouth to match his second.

_“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”_

_A log fell in the fire, its flames licked out, lighting the room for a fraction of a second, giving Harry a short view of Draco’s terrified and paler than usual face._

He blearily opened his eyes to see an alarmingly pale Ron, but his vision was blurry. He looked around for a second for his glasses until he realized they were still on. Then the blurriness slowly disappeared, and Harry finally realized that it was Hermione’s brown hair that was blurring his vision. Hermione was clinging to him tightly, silently sobbing. He realized that he was lying on the sofa. He gave a small groan to alert her that he was awake. Hermione shot up and looked at him for a second, eyes glistening with many tears, and hugged him even tighter, her face burying itself in his neck.

“I thought we lost you...  I thought I... ” her voice trailed away, muffled by his neck.

“Bloody Hell,” Ron whispered at the same time.

“Ron,” Harry rasped out. “C-could you...  wa-ter... ?”

Ron immediately ran downstairs to get some water. Just as his head was out of view, Harry turned his head to Hermione. “D-did you hear?”

Hermione nodded quickly, her long brown locks trying to keep up. “Did that ever happen before?”

Harry shook his head, but immediately regretted it when his head started to ache again. “I mimicked his voice...  so you c-could hear. For some reason... he doesn’t know about... the second attempt at killing us.”

Hermione crinkled her brow, tickling Harry’s neck. “How could he not know?”

There was silence for a moment. They could hear a small trickling of water downstairs. Finally Hermione spoke.

“Harry...  at the wedding... ”

“What happened and why d-did it?” he finished her sentence. She nodded and he continued. “I don’t know, really. I mean did you  _want_  that to happen, well, what was about to happen? You c-couldn’t say ‘heat of the moment’ because that happened afterwards.” Seeing her hesitation, Harry whispered, “I don’t know about you, and you probably didn’t mean to do it, but I did. Sorry.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “You...  you did?” She asked hopefully. Not waiting for an answer, she looked down and muttered, “Well, I guess that makes the two of us.”

Harry would have leaped for joy if it wasn’t for the fact that his head was splitting open in pain. At least one of his questions was answered during the summer. Hermione fancied him, at least.

Silence followed. This time, companionable silence. Hermione reached out to hold Harry’s hand while Harry gratefully smiled at her. This time, Harry broke the silence.

“Hermione... I have to show you something...  tonight. It’s about the Horcruxes. Okay?”

Hermione gently squeezed his hand as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Of course Harry,” she whispered, “but you need your sleep, and I don’t think the middle of the night is wise. I really don’t like this place. Is eight o’ clock alright?”

Harry nodded as Ron bounded into the room with a tall glass of water. “Thanks,” he muttered as he drunk the cold water almost steadily and placed it on the floor next to him. Ron nodded and walked away from them back to the kitchen, preferably to get something to eat. Harry looked at Hermione one last time with a smile, receiving one in return, then faded off into the sleep he desperately needed, the scar’s pain residing. He felt his glasses being removed by gentle hands before he blacked out.

**< HP><DH><HP><Take—Two><DH><HP><DH>**

“Harry,” a gentle voice whispered, “Wake up. It’s eight.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes to sight that he wished he could wake up in the morning to see: Hermione. He saw that his glasses were placed on his face. He smiled his thanks and slowly sat up from the bed. “G’morning, Hermione,” He whispered.

“Good morning to you too, Harry. How is your scar?” She said after a few seconds.

“I don’t feel it now, but I got a twinge every now and then when I was sleeping.” He whispered as he looked around the room. He noticed that Ron was on the other side of the room, snoring quite loudly. He was about to ask Hermione where she slept when he stood up from the sofa when he noticed that there were a pair of cushions next to the sofa and Hermione was sitting on them, now standing up. He smiled at her and she blushed heavily when she realized what he was looking at before. “Y’know, I knew I was holding someone’s hand in my sleep,” He said softly, but made sure Hermione could hear.

“So, um, you said something about a Horcrux,” She said, trying to avoid her embarrassment.

Harry grinned at her before turning serious. “Yeah...  and if I’m right,” He said, grasping Hermione’s hand and silently gestured for her to follow, which she obliged, “I think one is here.”

He heard a gasp of excitement. “Harry are you sure? A Horcrux in Grimmauld Place? Certainly the Order would’ve found it by now.” By now, her voice changed to disappointment.

“I think we did pick it up once,” Harry said as he went down the steps to the family tapestry. He stared at it for a few seconds, as if looking for a name, then smiled. “Yeah, we did.” He turned to Hermione. “Okay, I was talking to your photo about who RAB was, and we thought about all of the families that had ‘B’ as a last initial. Suffice to say, the first name that came up in my mind was ‘Black’.” He stopped for a moment, and could almost see Hermione mentally slapping herself. “Then we talked about any clues the note left us. The only clue we saw was that he said, ‘To the Dark Lord’. I would guess that he had to be a Death Eater since they call Voldemort ‘Dark Lord’ and ‘My Lord’. Sirius told me about his brother once. He was a Death Eater, and Voldemort himself killed him, or so he heard.” At Hermione’s slow nod, he continued by pointing at a name on the tapestry.

**_ Regulus Arcturus Black _ **

**_1961-1979_**  

Hermione gave a small squeal and hugged Harry tightly. “You found R.A.B.! You found him!” She whispered excitedly.

“Technically, you found him,” Harry said as he hugged her back, “but we still hadn’t found the locket. It’s the one that we had a couple of years ago, but it wouldn’t open. I should have noticed it, though. It had an ‘S’ on it, not a ‘B’! It was the Slytherin locket, and I missed it.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said as she pulled him along by the hand somewhere, “ _we_  missed it. We all held it and we just put it in a box. Oh, I hope it’s still in there... ”

“Where?” He asked curiously.

“Here,” Hermione said after a few more seconds of walking, “right here.”

Harry looked on the door to read:

**Do Not Enter**  
**Without the Express Permission of  
** **Regulus Arcturus Black**

Hermione pointed her wand at the door and whispered excitedly, ‘Alohamora!’ There was a click and Hermione swung the door open. The first thing that Harry noticed were the Slytherin colors, silver and green, all around the room; covering the bed, draping the windows, and painting the walls. He saw the crest over the bed excellently painted.

“Nice room,” Harry commented, “but it looks like it’s been trashed.”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied as she looked around, “I like the color green. Emerald’s my favorite, you know.”

Harry felt his face burn as Hermione smirked and raised her wand again towards the room. She said in a soft, firm voice, “ _Homenum_ _Revelio._ ”

When nothing happened, Harry turned to her, his embarrassment forgotten for the moment. “What did it do?” He asked curiously.

“It checked for any dark magic or traps,” Hermione said calmly as he stepped inside and went straight to his bed, which had old newspaper clippings. She flipped through them, and when Harry stepped closer, he saw that they were all about Voldemort. He could see some green in almost all of the pictures, and wondered if they were killing curses in battle or the Dark Mark. He shrugged and walked over to the desk. He saw a picture in a frame, the people inside waving at him. He saw the crests on their robes with a small snake on it. He also noticed that there were eighteen people in the frame, in two rows.

“They’re Quidditch players,” Harry mumbled as he looked closer at the picture. He could easily tell which one was Regulus. He was in the middle, in the front row. If he was in the middle, then—

“He was seeker,” Hermione said silently, almost making Harry visibly jump. He didn’t notice her approaching. “I mean he was seeker, right? I mean, he’s in the middle, and if you look close enough, he’s holding a snitch, I think.”

Harry turned to face her. “How did you know that seekers are in the middle?” He asked. “He could’ve been captain?”

This time it was Hermione’s turn to blush as she mumbled something intelligibly.

Harry’s eyebrow rose, but decided that he shouldn’t probe any further. He walked around her to the wardrobe to look around. He got on his knees to crawl under. A few seconds later, he heard Hermione’s voice.

“Harry? Why did you ask to meet me and didn’t tell Ron?”

“Oh. Umm... ” He backed out of the closet and got on his feet, shaking his legs to continue the circulation as he did so. “I wanted to ask you to help me look for a picture of Sirius so I could add to the picture book.”

“Oh.” Harry noticed her crestfallen look.

“Hermione,” he started slowly, half- afraid of the answer, “there’s something...  more...  between us, isn’t it?”

“Well, I thought that was obvious,” she said, still looking down, her feet softly kicking the emerald carpet.

“So...  you really do like... ?”

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. She looked up at him with glistening eyes. “Do you?”

Harry could do nothing but nod dumbly, but a second later he choked out, “Yeah.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You do? But...  how? And why would you?”

“How could I not?” Harry asked, confused. “And, just so I’m not confused, we’re talking about me liking you, right?”

“Yes, that’s what we were talking about... but...  I’m a bossy bookworm, you of all people should know that!” She spoke in a hard whisper.

Harry walked forward to her and cupped her chin, forcing her to look in his eyes. “I never complained about it before. That was Ron. And I don’t really care if you’re bossy or a bookworm. If you weren’t bossy, I would’ve never left first year. And if you weren’t a bookworm, then I would’ve been dead a long time ago. Probably by the end of first year... ”

Hermione gave a sad smile, and wiped away a tear. “I have to admit, you would be dead without my help, but I would’ve been dead in my first year and, if I remember, almost every year after that. I fear that I need you to live,” she said with a grin.

Harry smiled back as he let go of her chin and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re strong, Hermione. You could live without me. I’m not exactly expected to live, after all... ”

“ _Harry_ ,” she said in a warning tone.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” He said, frustrated that she wouldn’t see reality, “but you know it’s the truth. I either have to kill Voldemort or be killed. And I really don’t think I can do what Dumbledore failed to do. I just can’t—”

“You can,” Hermione said fiercely, but softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I know you can. I won’t let you feel any different. All you need... ” she said as she stood up on her toes, keeping her face inches from Harry’s, “...  is hope.” She finished by pulling him into a tender kiss.

Harry’s breath hitched when their lips met, but immediately replied. It was nothing like he had ever felt before. Harry felt that he didn’t need his Firebolt anyway, he was soaring so high. He felt hope, power, Desperation, and...  love. That was the strongest feeling. Harry didn’t know it was possible to feel anything in a kiss. It just felt so...

“Wow,” Harry said silently when they parted seconds later, red-faced and content.

“Yeah,” Hermione said in a somewhat dazed expression. Harry had to suppress a snigger; he never thought that Hermione could look like Luna.

“So...  are we... ?” Hermione started hopefully.

“Together?” Harry finished, just as hopeful. Hermione slowly nodded, her smile growing, eyes glistening. “Well...  as much as I want to...  I can’t say that you’ll be in danger, because you’re here with me, and Voldemort already knows that you’ve been my best friend for six years. But there is one problem... ”

“Ron?” Hermione said tensely, the smile now morphing into a small frown.

“Yeah. He’s my best mate, he’s done so much for me, and I know he likes you. He’ll think I betrayed him or something. What do you think we should do?”

“Keep it a secret?” She said the first thing that came to her mind. She knew that Harry wouldn’t want to do that.

“We can’t go behind his back.” Hermione noted that Harry was not irritated or appalled by her suggestion. Something told her that Harry had considered it. His next statement confirmed it. “No matter how much I want to, we can’t.”

He turned to face her. He wasn’t even aware that he had been pacing, but mentally shrugged it off. He took on a look of sadness and averted his eyes after a second. “I really don’t think that we should...  you know...  be together.”

Hermione had to choke back something between a gasp and a sob, releasing as a small whimper. She knew that he was going to say it, she was thinking it herself, as she knew that’s what they eventually had to choose to do. But she wasn’t prepared to hear it. It sort of made it...  final...  when pronounced out loud. Her tears of happiness were replaced with a tear of sorrow and anguish. It was going to be hard for her to be nice to Ron from then on.

She once again felt a hand cup her chin. She looked up into those brilliant, but sad green orbs. “For the moment, Hermione,” He whispered as he put the other arm around her waist. “I don’t mean  _forever_ , I mean  _for the moment_.” Harry gave a small smile. “For the greater good, ‘Mione.”

Despite the circumstances, Hermione chuckled a little. “Why does that saying come up in the worst of situations?”

“Alas, that is one of life’s greatest mysteries, my dear Ms. Granger. I must contemplate this issue when the time is right; for now, let us go and feast on some lemon drops.”

Hermione had a full-on laugh at his raspy voice imitation. “Let’s go to bed, Harry.”

“As appealing as that sounds,” Harry said in a suggestive tone that made her blush, “I want to look around for a picture of Sirius and for the locket, if it’s here. It is morning, after all.”

“Yeah, but since this place has only two windows, I wouldn’t know. This place needs some redecorating. I’ll help you, but earlier, when I looked around in Sirius’s room, I didn’t see any single pictures.” Harry saw that she hesitated for a moment before she added, “And Harry, I forgot to tell you something about the album.”

“Yeah,” He asked.

“It only works for Muggle pictures. I found out that a Wizarding picture has small recording cycle motions, you see. And they can’t talk. It took me a long time to manipulate the album to take the signature of a regular Muggle picture, but Wizarding pictures have too many spells on them already. It is more of several pictures into one, actually. More like a fast slideshow. Possibly, I might be able to take a Muggle picture of a Wizard picture, but I don’t think the person will be comfortable in the picture when it’s placed in the album.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because... well... okay, think of this. The quality of an old picture is pretty bad, right?” Harry nodded. “But the Wizard picture was made that way, if it gets older, then the picture becomes older. But if you take a picture of an old picture, and trying to get only one face in a group picture, it becomes a little... distorted.”

“I imagine that’ll probably hurt...  but can pictures feel?”

“Have you ever thrown a picture in the fire or lit one.”

“Ohhh,” Harry said after a second, remembering a certain reporter screaming in pain when he threw away her toilet paper  _Prophet._ Music to his ears.

They spent more time talking about the advantages and disadvantages of the photo album, and after Harry’s constant reassurances that it was still the best present that he ever received, they spread around the room, looking for a photo, and if found, a locket with a green ‘S’.

While they were looking, not knowing how long they were searching, they heard a sound. “Ron,” they said to each other with a smile. They resumed their business as they heard footsteps getting closer. They waited until Ron came crashing into the room. Hermione looked up at him, her hair tied back. He looked furious for some reason, but calmed when he actually noticed them.  _‘Of course,’_  she thought with little regret,  _‘He thought we were snogging behind his back. If only!’_

“This is what you two been doing?” He asked exasperatedly. “What  _are_  you doing anyway?”

“Good morning to you too, Ron,” Hermione said grumpily as she stood up and wiped off the dust off her flannel pajamas. Harry, with his sweaty mop almost covering his eyes gave a small wave to Ron and disappeared into the closet to hold back a snigger (and his blush from earlier). “We were looking for the locket. Harry found him; Regulus A. Black, Sirius’s brother.”

Ron quickly stepped back and checked the outside of the door to confirm it. He then came back into the room and looked around from the middle. “But he’s a Black,” Ron said uneasily. “Why would he want to kill You-Know-Who?”

“Sirius is a Black,” Harry said with an eyebrow raised.

“You know what I mean,” Ron snapped, “He himself said his whole family’s evil, except for the Tonks’.”

“Sirius also said that Regulus Black was a Death Eater,” Harry replied smoothly.

“And?” Ron asked. “That just proves my point. He’s on You-Know-Who’s side.”

“How do we know for sure?” Harry asked.

“Umm...  because...  well, look at his room. He’s a Slytherin!”

“And... ?” Harry asked, motioning his hand for Ron to continue.

“That means he was evil!” Ron said as if it was completely obvious.

“Ron, why else was he killed by Voldemort himself when he was only eighteen?” Harry asked. “What if it was because he knew about the Horcruxes? That’s the only excuse I can think of. And, if you have a better choice on who RAB is, then say it! Otherwise, I really think that this is him.” He sat silent for a few moments, appearing to be in deep thought, before he looked up at him and smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll have to ask someone who knew Regulus personally.”

“Who?” Ron challenged.

Harry simply stood up and cleared his throat.

“ _Kreacher!_ ”

There was a thunderous crack throughout the house as a short, shriveled house-elf with batlike ears and a filthy rag as clothing.

Hermione whispered, “How come I didn’t figure it out sooner?” Followed by a small smack on the head by herself.

“Master,” Kreacher croaked to Harry as he bowed low to him, but was caught off.

“Kreacher, before we converse, I must ask that you not insult Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley. That means not saying the offensive term for anything involving the purity of blood. Do I make myself clear?”

Kreacher stood straight up and seemed to tremble for a second, as if trying to disagree, but one look at the fierceness in Harry’s emerald eyes made him give in immediately. “Y-yes, Master.”

“Secondly,” Harry continued, “Don’t call me ‘Master’. I want to be called Harry, or at the most, Mr. Potter. But I prefer Harry.”

“Y-yes, M-M-Harry.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said. Just as he was about to start, he looked up to see Ron and Hermione staring at him, gobsmacked. Hermione was the first to recover, and smiled at him, tears threatening to come out. Ron came to a moment later, but said, “Blimey, mate, he killed Sirius and you treat him... with respect?” Earning a flinch, then a glare from Hermione.

“The past is in the past,” Harry shrugged. At the raised eyebrows from the two, he smirked and turned back to Kreacher, who had wide eyes. “What?” Harry asked curiously.

“M-Harry said ‘thank you’,” He said, awe evident in his voice.

“Yes, and you’ll receive more thank you’s, and possibly a prize, if you answer these questions truthfully. Alright?”

“Yes, Harry.” Harry noticed that he didn’t struggle at all with that sentence and answered immediately. Something told him that he had rarely heard ‘Thank You’. He wondered if S.P.E.W. would be a hit if it had a different name.

“Alright, then... ” He squatted down and made sure he was eye-level with Kreacher. He took a deep breath. “Have you stolen any lockets lately? One that had an ‘S’ on it. Couldn’t open? Belonged to Regulus Black?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened in shock. It was actually quite comical, seeing as his eyes took up about a fifth of his body. “Harry knows?” He said in disbelief?

He looked up and smiled at a jubilant Hermione and a gleeful Ron. “Told you,” he said to them, then he turned back to Kreacher. Do you have it?”

“No.”

“What?” Ron shouted as Hermione’s face fell.

“Hold on Ron,” Harry said almost calmly, while on the inside he was panicking.  _‘He doesn’t have the BLOODY LOCKET!?!’_  “Kreacher, do you know who has it?” he asked gently.

“Stop being so nice to him,” Ron yelled. “He doesn’t deserve it!”

Hermione restrained herself from giving Ron what he deserved with her fist and walked over to Harry. She crouched down next to him and looked Kreacher in the eye while Harry spoke again. “Kreacher, do you know who has the locket?”

“Mundungus Fletcher,” croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and – and—”

Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.

“— _and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!_ ”

Before Kreacher could lunge for the poker standing in the grate, Harry already had his wand out. He pointed it at Kreacher, making him stop in midair. The house-elf slowly floated back towards Harry, frozen stiff. Harry heard Hermione mutter something and she ran over to the house-elf’s rigid form. She pulled out her wand and conjured a small glass bottle.

“Going to extract his memories?” Harry asked as he slowly lowered the body.

“Yes, I am. I want to see what happened. But first, I want to see how it was obtained.  _Ennervate_.”

Kreacher groggily opened his eyes. When his vision cleared, he realized his surroundings. He immediately scuttled away from Hermione. He wisely didn’t say anything, since he remembered that he was not allowed to say ‘Mudblood’.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kreacher,” Hermione said, mistaking his disgust for shock. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kreacher stayed silent, still sputtering.

“He did that because of your lineage,” Harry said in an unmistakable growl, watching the house-elf’s actions. He breathed through his nose and tried to calm himself down. “She was just trying to help you. She was just trying to ask you if you knew anything of how the locket was obtained. Please, at least make an effort to be nice to her.”

The threatening tone in Harry’s voice did not go unheard in Kreacher’s large ears. “Y-yes, Master Harry.”

“Kreacher,” Hermione started in a soft tone, “Could you please bring everything about the locket to the front of your mind?”

“Kreacher will try,” he slowly and tentatively, narrowing his eyes at the girl. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the few memories he had of his master’s locket until he felt something at the side of his head. Something told him not to move. He didn’t think that they would hurt him. He felt something slightly cool slithering out of his mind like a small snake, making him almost shudder. He felt the process repeat over and over again, until nothing happened when the wand, he found out, was placed on his temple. The wand drew back from him, taking nothing with it.

“I think that’s all, Harry,” he heard the girl say.

“It does look like a lot, but we know who has the locket, so we’ll look at the more important ones first,” his master said. He finally opened his eyes to see Harry and Hermione looking at a vial with, it looked like silver hair, with a mix of curiosity and excitement. He saw the redhead in the back slowly approach the two, also curious. He had seen those before, he knew.

“M-memories?” he asked with hesitancy.

“Yes, Kreacher, we needed these memories for reference. We need to... erm... get it back.” Harry almst let slip that they were going to destroy it. He didn’t think that Kreacher would take it well.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a locket which made Kreacher’s eyes widen. To Kreacher’s utter shock and to the shock of the other two, Harry placed the locket in front of the old house-elf. “Kreacher, thank you. I said that I would say it again, along with something else, if you agreed to helping us. You did, so here is a small token.”

“Oi, that’s just too much! Shouldn’t you wait ‘til we watch those memories. We don’t know if they’re fake memories!”

“Ron, first of all,” Hermione said, clearly getting upset, “Kreacher didn’t know what we were doing until he saw the vial.”

“And we don’t have a pensieve, so how are we going to watch the memories now? It would just be better to give him the locket right when we get the memories!”

And, out of nowhere, a basin appeared in the center of the room with the softest pop, making the three jump out, and Harry with his wand back out and a curse on his tongue, Hermione following after a half-second. Ron fell back since the black basin was closer to him, and he fell on his elbows. “Ouch! Damn, that hurt!”

“Wait...  is that a pensieve?” Hermione said, slowly lowering her wand.

Harry kept his wand up and slowly approached the ‘pensieve’. He found it very strange that the moment they wished for a pensieve, it appeared in front of him. He looked inside of the basin when he got close enough. It was empty.

“How did a pensieve pop up out of nowhere when we needed it?” Harry asked more to himself, and was surprised when he heard a reply. He surprised even more by the one who said the reply.

“Kreacher summoned one,” The old house-elf said grudgingly. It seemed as if he felt like he was betraying someone. Harry quickly figured that it might be Mrs. Black. A brief pang of guilt hit him as he realized what he did to Mrs. Black’s portrait. He hoped that Kreacher wouldn’t find out anytime soon.

After a moment of fumbling nervously, and Harry noted that the fake locket was now on his small, shriveled neck, he said, “Thank you, Master Harry Potter, sir.” Before Harry could ask him to say ‘It’s just Harry’, he disappeared with a crack.

Hermione took no time to run towards the pensieve and pour the vial into the giant basin. Harry looked at them swirling around for a moment – it seemed as if the memories extended and became a giant pool of memories – before he turned and walked to the doors and placed several security and locking charms. Then he walked back towards the pensieve and spoke.

“Ready to go in?” he asked the two. At their now determined nods, he had no hesitation in diving head first into the pensieve. The effects were no different than in fifth year, Harry mused. He still felt like he was falling from the sky, but in slower form. He saw Hermione dive in next, and shortly following, Ron. Harry turned to look down and saw a very familiar and unpleasant sight.

He saw a large black sea in the dead of night, a rocky cliff that seemed to have a small source of light, and a shoreline...  with a small old boat on the end. Before he could ask any questions, he saw something that almost made him choke on his caught breath.

He saw a dark figure approach the boat, followed by a clumsy elf. Harry had to squint through the darkness to see that it was Kreacher, only younger. A lot younger. He knew who the dark figure was for certain, but his scar wasn’t prickling like usual. It took him a few seconds to realize that since he was in a pensieve, that was only an image of Tom Riddle. He finally landed on the shore when he saw Voldemort push Kreacher into the boat, followed by himself. Harry looked at the lake. Since it was an image, he shouldn’t be able to drown, right?

He heard Hermione whisper behind him, “Is your scar okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a normal voice, “It’s an image. He can’t hear us, you know.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “it just seemed so real.

“How do we get across?” She asked when Ron joined them, the same time the boat departed the shore.

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “I could try... ”

He walked over to the shore and looked at the waves, wondering if he could step onto the waters, since it was only an illusion. He stepped onto the black sea, expecting to step onto the shore underneath. Although it didn’t matter, Harry realized, since he was fairly sure that he shouldn’t be able to drown in an illusionized sea. He briefly wondered if his pants leg would be wet before his foot hit a hard, yet uneasy, surface. He looked down and smiled.

“I think I found out how we get across,” Harry said to the two behind him. He looked over to Voldemort and Kreacher, still in the boat. They were still far from the cave. It was at that time that Harry had to wonder why Kreacher was there in the first place. Surely he didn’t replace the locket in front of Voldemort?

He almost stumbled from the waves. It felt similar to a black marble floor, but with jagged and pointy edges that kept moving, followed by small waves. Harry wondered how the boat could possibly and steadily row towards the cave when the waves were heading towards the shore. He mentally slapped himself as the simple answer appeared in his head. Magic.

Harry slowly walked onto the waves, stumbling as he did so. He really wished that he could fly like Voldemort did. Harry figured that Tom must’ve used some sort of spell on the cave, making it so the boat was the only way to travel to that cave, which was probably why he was in the boat himself.

He looked back to see Ron and Hermione approaching the waves, Hermione stepping onto the water first while Ron observed. Moments, he stepped onto the shoreline the moment a particularly nasty wave approached. Harry and Hermione jumped over it, while Ron stumbled and fell, stopping his fall with his hands. He push himself up.

“Maybe I should’ve kept watch over the pensieve,” Ron grumbled.

“You just need to – ugh – get the hang of it,” Hermione grunted as she walked over to Harry, who was a few feet away, snickering at Ron’s fall.

“Just hope that the Inferi aren’t gonna attack,” Harry pointed out with a grin. He caught Hermione’s arm as she stumbled into Harry, and she looked up to give a grateful smile. He made a move of moving his arm, but Hermione used her other hand to hold it.

“I don’t want to fall and you walk faster,” she simply said.

Harry accepted that excuse and they continued their trek across the sea, Ron catching up about a minute later. When the next wave came, they simultaneously jumped over it and continued. They finally reached the boat seconds before it hit the shore.

Voldemort looked no scarier than he is now, Harry thought. The scarlet, slitted eyes were still there, the bald head, the long and slim fingers that pushed the not-as-old house-elf out of the boat, and the slightly sharp, bared teeth that showed when he smiled as Kreacher fell out of the boat onto the stone floor. Harry suppressed the urge to pull out his wand and attempt a _Crucio_  on the Dark Lord right then. He could almost feel Hermione grimace.

Voldemort stood up with ease – considering the boat might tip over by one wrong movement – and stepped off onto the dark stone of the cavern. Harry could see the faint green glow from the goblet in the cave, and stepped closer. He then experienced an unexpected fall into the sea. Harry almost panicked when he fell, letting go of Hermione as he did so, but he landed with a hard  _‘thump’_  on the bottom. Was it the bottom? Harry opened his eyes. Harry was only waist deep in the water, which was quite weird, actually. He didn’t feel wet. He realized that Hermione was on her knees on the above surface with wide eyes, with her hands still on his arm.

“Harry, what Happened?” She asked with fright.

“I—I don’t know,” Harry said. How  _did_  that happen?

Ron came up a second later, crouching down to get Harry’s hand. “Did some Inferi grab your ankles or something?” he asked as Harry grabbed on to his hand and pulled himself out, Hermione helping.

“No... at least, I don’t think so.” Harry was completely confused.  Why did he fall through that one spot when he could’ve fallen earlier? Why did it have to be the spot that was right next to the boat and the cave? He didn’t feel something grab his ankles, and besides, the Inferi’s hands were supposed to go right through his legs, should they attempt to grab his legs. He looked back at the spot he fell in. It didn’t look any different from the rest of the sea. He reached out with his hand to touch the surface. It went through. He felt around the semicircular ring around it.

Harry was still perplexed when a blood-curdling scream broke the silence. He looked over into the cave to see Voldemort holding Kreacher by his throat, pouring the awful green liquid down his throat. Harry wanted to kill Voldemort right then and there. Then, Voldemort did something that made Harry’s blood boil. Tom laughed. Hermione stifled a sob.

Harry instinctively pulled Hermione close as they all helplessly watched Voldemort cackling as Kreacher kept screaming for someone to help him. Either Mrs. Black or Regulus, he didn’t seem to care. Harry remembered Dumbledore yelling as Harry forced him to drink the potion that eventually led to his downfall. He turned away from the scene with Hermione and closed her ears with both hands. Since Hermione made no attempt to move, Harry could tell that she was very grateful for it.

When the screaming stopped, Harry turned his head to see Tom dropping a locket inside the basin of the goblet. He refilled it shortly after. Harry looked at Kreacher, who was wheezing and snapping his fingers together to conjure water on the ground, then proceeding to lick the stony floor. Voldemort didn’t take notice; He did not even seem to realize that Kreacher was still there as he nonchalantly walked back to the boat, leaving the house-elf on the floor. Harry wanted nothing more than to flip the boat over the second Tom was in, but resisted. Tom slowly sailed away, and only then did he look back to see Kreacher gasping and wheezing. He laughed a purely evil, insane laugh as he turned back around and sped the boat up.

Kreacher slowly dragged himself over to the edge of the cavern to drink some water. And that was when it clicked. Voldemort knew that Kreacher was going to get the water from somewhere. He left him to be attacked by the Inferi. He left Kreacher to die.

Then, how did Kreacher escape the inferi?

Before Harry could voice this question, the water began shaking. Harry repeatedly kept stumbling. Hermione was clinging on to him, while Ron was trying to grab for her arm, but she kept swaying, resulting in Ron falling. Harry didn’t notice. What he did notice was Kreacher putting his hand in the water and scooping it up, drinking greedily. Harry knew what would happen next, according to the moving waves, which Kreacher didn’t pay attention to. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and jumped over the sinking spot onto the stone floor. When he turned around into Hermione’s embrace, Harry noticed three things. The first thing was that Ron was having a pretty tough time standing up. The second was that Kreacher was drinking from the same spot that Harry sunk in.  _‘That must be why I sunk in,’_  Harry thought. The memory appeared as everything Kreacher saw. Kreacher couldn’t see past the interior of the sea, so it didn’t exist in the memory. The question was, though, how could Kreacher see waist deep into the sea.  _‘Well, he does have rather large eyes, but—’_

Before he could finish his thought the third thing appeared. Inferi. They instantly grabbed for Kreacher, who had panic-filled eyes. They didn’t give him the chance to fight as he was dragged under the water before he knew it. Hermione, still turned away from the scene, heard a muffled scream from Kreacher and turned towards the source. She saw two shriveled feet disappear into the water before every thing turned black.

“Harry!” She instinctively yelled.

“I’m right here,” He murmured into her ear. He absently rubbed her arm as he looked around the darkened place, wherever it was. “Ron, you alright?” Harry yelled.

Harry heard an affirmative grunt. “I don wanna gedup right now,” Ron slurred. Harry almost thought he was seasick.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked. “Did Kreacher black out?”

“I don’t think he did,” Harry said, and before he could continue, Another scene reappeared. Harry looked at the surroundings. It looked like a clean – very clean, actually – version of Regulus’ room. Ron was on the floor next to a wall, almost on the verge of sleep. He looked elsewhere and saw someone who looked very similar to Sirius – Harry assumed that it was Regulus himself – was pacing about his room, muttering something. It seemed as if he was waiting for someone, Harry noted. Harry really didn’t care. He wanted to get out of the memory after what he had just seen, but knew that Hermione wanted to stay and research and analyze. She would probably want details on the last scene since her head was turned most of the time.

A loud crack brought him back to the present, making Ron fully awake and Hermione to attention.

_“M-master... ”_

_“Kreacher!” Regulus yelled, brimming with fear. He ran over to his house-elf as he pulled out his wand and performed a drying spell on the once soaking wet Kreacher. “Are you okay? Tell me, what happened?” He asked frantically._

The three listened to the explanation that Kreacher gave to his master. They were very angry at Regulus for sending Kreacher to Voldemort in the first place. But more importantly was, “How did he escape?”

Their question was answered at the end of Kreacher’s stuttering explanation.

_“Then... K-Kreacher was dragged in water b-by those t-things...  and Kreacher came to you.”_

_“Kreacher,” Regulus said soothingly, “why didn’t you pop over here before you were dragged in the water?” It seemed as if Regulus was on the verge of tears from what happened earlier._

“Apparition,” Hermione said silently, realization dawning on her. “Kreacher apparated to Grimmauld Place.”

Harry recounted Dobby apparating in his house all those years ago and popping around Hogwarts. Both of those were impossible. A House-elf could apparate out of any ward, apparently. He would have to remember that next time they were in trouble.

_Kreacher explained. “The D-Dark Lord was still there. I d-didn’t want him t-to see me. You t-told me—”_

_“That’s okay, Kreacher, I understand. So, it was a locket?”_

_“Y-yes, Master.”_

_“Very well. Kreacher, I prepared my bed for you tonight. You need at least a ten-hour sleep, no questions asked.”_

_Kreacher looked at him with pure disbelief for a few seconds, before he became extremely happy. He happily trotted over to the bed and fell into a deep sleep, not bothering to move the covers._

_Regulus shook his head sadly at the house-elf before he picked him up. He pulled back the covers and placed Kreacher back in the bed, wrapping the covers around Kreacher’s small form to the neck as he did so. He quietly walked out of the room and silently closed the door._

Then the memory shifted again. This time it was a slow shift, not pitch black. This left Harry perplexed only for a moment. “It was all one memory,” Harry said slowly. “When we were in the dark, that was when Kreacher apparated.”

A small ‘O’ formed on Hermione’s lips as she considered this, while Ron started to stand up.

Only to fall once again when the memory appeared. They were back at the cave, only this time, Harry and Hermione were on the edge of the stone floor, while Ron appeared on the sea. They were at the same place when they disappeared the first memory.

“ _Accio_  Ron,” Harry said, and seconds later, Harry was helping Ron stand up on the opposite side of Hermione, who was looking around for Kreacher. So far, there was no one else in the scene but the three.

“Thanks, Mate,” Ron said uneasily. Ron looked like he was going to spew any minute now. Harry looked behind him to see the faint green glow. He walked over towards it, followed by Ron. Hermione was still looking for Kreacher. Harry looked into the goblet and squinted his eyes to see a golden locket that looked almost like the fake. Harry wanted to reach in and grab it, but knew it couldn’t happen. He took a deep sigh.

“Just wish you could take it, huh?” Ron asked. “Wish I could, too. Can we just go? I want to hunt down Mundungus now.”

Before Harry could agree, Hermione warned, “Here they come!”

Harry looked over to where Hermione was pointing towards a small boat, with two foggy characters. Harry knew it was Kreacher and Regulus. He walked back over to Hermione, shortly followed by Ron, to take a closer look. When they came into clearer view, Regulus looked distinctly nervous. And scared. Truly Scared. Harry could understand why he was so scared, stealing from Voldemort and all.

Harry saw Regulus saying something to Kreacher, and he saw Kreacher’s face turn from scared to downright terrified.  _He must have told Kreacher to drink the potion again_ , Harry thought with growing anger.

Soon enough, they reached the cavern and Kreacher got out first, Harry realized with no shoving. Regulus looked uncomfortable for a second before he steeled his resolve and stood up. With a face like that, Harry realized, he should’ve belonged in Gryffindor.

 _Regulus confidently walked over to the goblet and held it up. “To the demise of the Dark Lord,” he chanted._ What he did next amazed all three of them. _He drunk as fast and greedily as he could until he fell and cried out in pain. Kreacher closed his eyes and reached blindly for the goblet that had not spilled a drop. He grabbed it and approached the source of the scream. Kreacher opened his eyes to tiny slits as he forced open Regulus’ mouth and began pouring the foul liquid down his throat. The screams became louder and more agonizing, and Kreacher openly sobbed, but still resumed pouring the toxin; after all, it was an order._

_When no more could pour out of the goblet, Kreacher took the fake locket out of the shaking man’s pockets and replaced the real one in the cup. Kreacher wrapped the chain around his wrist. He summoned a large cup and conjured water in it and tried to hand it to the still shaking Regulus. “P-please, sir,” Kreacher pleaded after a moment of forcing him to drink, “Y-you have to d-drink!”_

_“N-no, Kreacher,” Regulus stuttered. “I-I c-c-can’t. You know w-what I-I have to d-do.”_

_“What’s that, M-Master Regulus?”_

_Regulus, still lying down, looked out over the black sea, the waves calmly hitting each other and lapping over, giving it an all over, peaceful look. It wouldn’t last long, Regulus knew. He took a very deep breath._

_“My work is done.”_

_There was no stuttering in his voice, no hesitancy whatsoever. He knew his time was up, whether then or the very next day._

_“M-Master Regulus?” Kreacher said after a few moments. Regulus looked over to Kreacher and saw him holding out his hand. He shook his head at the old elf._

_“No. Kreacher, my work is done. I must g-go.” Kreacher pushed his hand closer. He still did not understand. “No, Kreacher. I want you to g-go home... and d-destroy that thing.” Regulus slowly stood up, grunting in pain as he did so. “T-tell no one of what happened. Except s-someone you know that will k-kill him one d-day. Help him in any w-way you c-can.”_

_“But Master Regulus,” Kreacher asked, befuddled, “what of you?_ You _are my master!”_

_“And you have been a great servant, and a better friend,” he replied with a raspy voice. He placed he goblet onto the pedestal and watched as the goblet automatically filled back up with the green, vile liquid, not knowing that the thing that is being protected is fake. He faced the sea one more time, before he walked towards it, as if in a trance. Kreacher watched on in curiosity, then understanding, and finally, terror. He made a lunge for Regulus, but Regulus simply raised a hand towards Kreacher, signaling for him to stop as he himself stopped. He didn’t look back towards Kreacher. “Remember what I have said,” he silently whispered and pleaded. He resumed walking towards the edge of the sea next to the boat. “Apparate straight out of here, Kreacher.” He finally looked at Kreacher in the eyes. “Do you understand?”_

_Kreacher nodded. He couldn’t say anything. His master... his friend... was about to... but why? “Why, master?” He voiced his question._

_“I want to make a fool out of the Dark Lord, but I won’t be alive to do it. He will be looking for me with all the Death Eaters he has, and he won’t know that I am already gone from this world.” He gave a dry chuckle, which made Kreacher shudder, before he resumed. “I’ve left several hints as to who I am. If I survived today, and he finds out tomorrow, I will be dead tomorrow night. Try to destroy that thing. Don’t go hard on yourself if you cannot, but give it to someone if you are absolutely positive that you cannot yourself. Someone who is good, powerful, and wants to kill the Dark Lord... no... Voldemort.”_

_There was a long silence that ensued. The air seemed to wait for another action before it breezed again. The waters, for a moment, looked as if it needed something to swallow, to consume. Regulus resolved himself once again, for the last time. He figured that if he was so thirsty for water, it would be appropriate to die by water, and its creatures. He took a deep breath, but a second later, realized that...  he didn’t need it. He lost the air by saying his last words, looking back at Kreacher and smiling one last brilliant smile, as if he had been waiting for this moment, yearned for it._

_“Take care of mother for me. I love you both and my brother. Goodbye.”_

_Out of breath, Regulus quickly turned back and stretched out one leg and sat on the ledge, dipping his foot into the water. He hoisted himself in, but not before a claw could come and grab his head under. Regulus Arcturus Black was gone._

_Kreacher fell to his knees and cried. Hard. He had lost his master... his friend... because of the locket that was in his hand. Seconds later, he popped away silently, still on his knees, but with a steely resolve. The locket in his hand was in for a universe of pain._

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stumbled out of the pensieve with fresh tears in their eyes.

“I – I had no idea,” Hermione said softly, clinging to Harry, wetting his t-shirt as she did so. “That... that was so awful!”

“I-I need to go,” Ron said softly, trying to hide his tears. He stumbled out of the door to look for Kreacher.

Harry made no move to hide his tears. He let them freely flow. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen...  and Sirius called him a coward. Harry thought that he was anything but.

And, at that moment, Harry had found a new respect for Regulus Arcturus Black... and his little friend. A few minutes later, Harry, after talking to Hermione, decided to ask Kreacher to look for Mundungus Fletcher the next day. Ron did not come upstairs after that. They assumed he was crying. They were both thankful for that. They had a few things to discuss.


	6. Time to Train

The next morning, after Harry gave him his condolences (No matter how much Harry hated them himself, Kreacher had never received them to hate them), Harry asked Kreacher to hunt down one Mundungus Fletcher and to bring him back to headquarters. It did take some persuasion for Kreacher to bring Mundungus back alive, however. When asked how long it might take to find him, Kreacher replied, “As soon as possible, Mr. Potter.” When Harry asked for an estimate time, Kreacher grudgingly explained that it would take, at the least, a week. Harry didn’t really like that, but he was happy that he had a lead, at least. Remembering Dobby’s devotion, he told Kreacher that he could eat and sleep whenever he felt hungry or tired, no exceptions. He also ordered Kreacher (politely, of course) to report back every other night for dinner. Kreacher popped away, planning on what state Mundungus should return toGrimmauld Place. Harry felt that he didn’t need to mention that he was going to cook dinner himself and not Kreacher.

Harry then proceeded to trot up the stairs for a quick view through the short memories that they hadn’t seen the day before. Harry realized when he jumped into the pensieve, that they were the memories of Kreacher trying to destroy the locket Horcrux. Kreacher and the locket were in a giant metal box-room. Harry had no idea where that was, and was certain that it wasn’t in Grimmauld Place. It looked like the place that Remus might go to during his ‘furry little problem’. He would have to ask Kreacher later.

Harry watched, astounded, as Kreacher cast a wide spectrum of colours at the locket. He seemed to only use his fingers. As time moved on, Harry realized that he had seen pretty much every colour except for the sickly green colour that he was very familiar with. He wondered if House-elves had to be given permission to use Unforgivables. He would have something else to ask Kreacher.

After about an hour, Harry decided to skip to the last one. The others were basically repeats. Every scene, Kreacher glares at it as he tries to shoot all of his magic at the locket on the ground, trying to drain his magical core itself. Harry wished he could perform magic like that, even if he still needed his wand to do it. He wondered if Kreacher would give him a few lessons.

Harry groaned. It seems that he had a lot of stuff to do and ask. He needed to make a schedule, a daily one. He hoped Hermione could help him organize.

Hermione. She was on Harry’s mind a lot lately, although it would be terrible if she hadn’t been. It was by a mutual agreement that they could not be together at the time. Not only would it make Ron uncomfortable and left out, but extremely jealous. Sometimes, Harry really didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss her until they both lost the feeling in their knees. His legs wouldn’t be okay at that moment, but his heart would. They pretended that what happened the morning before never happened while Ron was downstairs apologizing to Kreacher. They both knew that it just wouldn’t be right if they just went against Ron like that. While Harry suggested that Hermione drop a few hints that she was not interested in Ron or tell him outright, Hermione countered by asking him to remember what happened when she went to the Yule Ball with Viktor. This left a very upset and dreadfully unofficial couple.

Harry was still surprised that Hermione liked him. He was sure that it didn’t have anything to do with being the Boy Who Lived… so what was it? Girls were confusing, Harry finally decided. He would update P. ‘Mione soon. He felt a little ashamed that he hadn’t even spoken to her in a while. Granted, he had the real thing to talk to, but it was almost as if P. ‘Mione was another person. He would talk to her when Ron was not around. He guessed that Hermione would want to talk to P. ‘Mione, too, if not to gossip.

Shaking his head out of those thoughts for later, Harry watched the last of the memories. He noticed that Kreacher seemed to be looking older and more tired each time he had faced the locket. As he watched the last memory, Harry wondered how recent it was. He guessed it was most likely right before Mundungus took it. When Harry thought that Kreacher couldn’t get any more impressive as he watched Kreacher give it his all, he saw something that almost made him wish he was a house-elf. He saw Kreacher, with all of his fingers, cast large bright white curses at the locket, bombarding it with what seemed to be sword slashes. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, and he was almost sure he wasn’t, he had just seen ten wandless and nonverbal _Sectumsempra_  curses aimed perfectly at the locket, full-power. Kreacher stumbled and fell, exhausted, not even having enough energy to look at the locket. Harry looked at the locket. It had a few scratches and a few new dents, but it was otherwise unharmed and intact. Harry wondered what it took to destroy a Horcrux, but more importantly, a locket. He thought about that as he left the pensieve.

Basilisk Venom? That was confirmed already. Harry had wondered if the venom was still in the chamber. He didn’t know if the chamber room was sealed, however. If it was, he should’ve been notified, but he was sure Dumbledore would do it without telling the one who discovered the chamber.

Gryffindor’s sword? That would explain why it was in the will. It had to be powerful, since Godric Gryffindor made it himself.

Chemicals? It would certainly be possible, since Voldemort didn’t know much about Muggle technology and sciences. There were acids that could melt even the hardest metals.

The Killing Curse? It would be valid, but Harry was not going to take any chances. Harry wondered, when faced with a Death Eater, could it be a shield against the  _Avada Kedavra_? Could anything be a shield to the  _Avada Kedavra_ , for that matter?

And then Harry realized… the inside of a locket was more vulnerable than the outside. But they never were able to open the locket. But if it was Salazar’s…

Harry smiled at this possible theory as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He saw Hermione, curled up on the couch and reading a book, as she usually did at Hogwarts. At closer inspection, Harry noticed that the book was ‘ _The Tales of Beadle the Bard_ ’. Harry silently skulked over to look over Hermione’s shoulder to read how much she had translated on the paper beside the book. Before he could read, however, he noticed something that looked very familiar to him. It was a triangle with a circle inside it. There was also a line of symmetry in the circle. It was a weird kind of symbol, but Harry could’ve sworn that he had seen it before…

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said, not looking up from her book.

Harry almost jumped back in shock. He used to always be able to sneak up on her when she read a book. “Morning, Hermione. How did you know I was behind you? You should be absorbed in that book by now.”

She blushed. That  _had_  happened many times in the past. “You groaned,” she explained a second later. “It was a depressing groan. Something on your mind?”

Harry nodded and pointed at the symbol drawn on the page. “I’ve seen it before,” he explained. “I’m not sure, but it was recently. It wasn’t here, I’m sure of it…”

“Was it at the wedding?” Hermione inquired. She had been wondering what that scribble was. It was on a lot of pages, mostly hidden.

“I don’t know… It could’ve been anywhere at the Burrow.”

“Let’s ask Ron,” she suggested as she stood up and bookmarked the kids’ story.

“Erm…okay,” Harry said uneasily.

“Something else on your mind?” she asked him as she put a hand on his arm.

“Other than the obvious,” he said with a grin, which made Hermione blush slightly, “yeah. I was thinking of different stuff that can destroy a Horcrux. So far, I’ve thought of the Killing Curse, Gryffindor’s Sword, basilisk venom, of course, and Muggle chemicals. Can you think of anything else?”

Hermione stayed quiet for a long second before she replied, “I’ll get back to you on that. We won’t be able to get chemicals easily, and the basilisk venom is at Hogwarts, along with Gryffindor’s sword. I’m not going to even try the Killing Curse, and I don’t want you to, either!” She said it as if daring Harry to argue.

“And I agree with you,” Harry said hastily, “but if that was the only option left—”

“We’ll have an Auror do it who had a lot of experience.”

“What are we supposed to say to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I don’t want to use that spell!”

“Why not? We’re not killing someone, and now it’s not illegal.”

“Well, I-I know that, but—”

“And I certainly hate Voldemort enough to use it.”

“Harry!” Hermione instinctually yelled. However, once she began to think about it, she would certainly hate Voldemort enough to use the curse, so Harry could do it plenty of anger to spare. But it felt so…wrong…and dirty…but if that was the last option…

Harry saw the wheels in Hermione’s head turn. He knew her too well. She was thinking of the advances and disadvantages of using the killing curse. There weren’t many disadvantages at the moment, and the advantage is a step closer to killing Voldemort, so Harry was fairly sure which side Hermione would choose. He wanted to see what Hermione would do if there were no laws or rules to follow. She would probably loosen up a little, he hoped. It’s been a week since the Order broke him out of the Dursleys already and she had done so much for him.

Harry snapped out his thoughts as Hermione finally came to a decision. “Okay…” she said slowly, not completely convinced, “but who is going to do it?”

“Me,” Harry easily volunteered. “I’m the one with the most hate towards him.”

“I really hope we find another way,” Hermione said silently.

But Harry still heard her. “Think we can get McGonagall to smuggle out Gryffindor’s sword?” He asked her.

Hermione smirked at him, then she sobered. “That wouldn’t work,” she said seriously. “They would suspect her if Gryffindor’s sword went missing. They would suspect she gave it to you, since you inherited it.”

“But I thought only Scrimgeour knew,” Harry said, perplexed.

“The people who handle the wills and testimonies knew,” Hermione explained, “and they work for the ministry, who now works for Voldemort. I’m sure that they are paying a lot of attention to Dumbledore’s will, mainly what they left you, me, and Ron. I bet they’re just as perplexed as us.”

“I hate riddles,” Harry said with a sigh.

“There’s a double meaning in that statement, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile.

Harry smiled back as he figured it out. “I still do.”

They spent the rest of that morning and half of the afternoon thinking about an alternative to destroying a Horcrux, completely forgetting about the symbol. They talked about everything from Muggle weaponry, such as machine Guns or powerful rifles. Harry briefly thought about a bomb, but remembered the Sectumsempra barrage that he had seen earlier that day. When he showed Hermione the last (and in Harry’s opinion, the best) memory, Hermione was speechless. Harry found this terribly amusing. After that short moment passed, she immediately wondered why house-elves were slaves if they could easily overpower their masters. Harry guessed it was because they were bonded and/or not allowed to escape or retaliate. Hermione gave a resigned sigh, then suggested that they ask Kreacher to train them, but Harry wondered if they could learn it, since they were humans. House-elves could even have different magical cores. They would ask Kreacher at dinner the next night.

When reminded of dinner, Harry’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, and it was three in the afternoon. They both went back downstairs and found Ron already in the kitchen, working on a piece of steak. They were shocked for a brief moment – they had only found scraps of food in the kitchen and some cans of baked beans and spinach. Harry wasn’t complaining – after all, he had seen Popeye once or twice in his life – but Ron on the other hand, refused outright and attacked the baked beans, saying that the spinach even smelled funny.

“Where did you find that?” Hermione asked Ron.

“Fond if,” Ron said, his mouth full.

“I know you found it, Ron,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. So many years of teaching him table manners, all gone to waste, apparently. “Where  _did_  you find it?”

Ron took a deep gulp water to swallow his food before he said, “It was in a part of the basement, under a really powerful cooling charm. There’s a load of steaks in there, for some reason.”

Harry and Hermione spared a glance before Harry asked Ron, “Where is the basement?”

Ron wordlessly pointed at a door in a darkened corner of the kitchen that looked too small to lead to a basement in Harry’s opinion. Harry walked over to it and opened the door to see a completely dark room. He instinctually pulled his wand out. “ _Lumos_.”

The first thing he noticed was a dresser at the bottom of the stairs with the bottom drawer open. There was a tattered, but warm-looking blanket inside of the drawer. Harry noticed with disgust that it was Kreacher’s sleeping place. He wouldn’t dare call it a bed. Harry slowly crept down the stairs as he tried to brighten the  _lumos_ , becoming successful. He realized a moment later that Hermione was following, according to the hand on his arm. When he reached the bottom, she lit up her wand.

“Your light is much brighter,” she commented.

Harry had noticed; it looked like a Christmas tree bulb compared to a low-powered household bulb. “Are you trying to brighten it? That’s what I did.”

Hermione seemed to concentrate then the wand tip began to glow brighter. It was still not as bright as Harry’s, but bright enough to light up a small room. She then appeared to be in deep thought again. Harry led her to a metal door that wasn’t very hard to find with the ignited tip of Harry’s wand. Harry knew he had seen that door before. And it was just that morning…

He immediately opened the door and gasped, Hermione following a short moment later. There was frosty raw meat scattered around in a giant metallic room. There wasn’t an enormous pile, but it would certainly last a while. But Harry noticed the room, even with the frost covering it.

“This was the battle room Kreacher used,” Hermione whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, “it is.” Harry walked into the room and cast a warming charm on himself and Hermione. She went straight to the steaks to pick them up, while Harry walked around the perimeter. It was a small room, but it would be perfect for a training room, Harry finally decided. They could move all the steaks into a bag – using Hermione’s expansion charm, of course – and place the bag in the freezer.

As they walked out of the giant icebox, Harry finally realized that this was the place Remus took care of his furry little problem. They must have heated the place on those nights, leaving Moony to a buffet of steaks to avoid biting himself. Then they would freeze the steaks in the room to save them for later. Harry shared this with Hermione, and she said that she had already figured that out and agreed with him. They went back up the stairs and found a durable grocery bag. While Hermione was muttering a long string of spells for an expansion charm, Ron had finished eating and asked what they were doing. When Harry told them that they were going to put all of the steaks in the freezer and use the room to train, he grudgingly agreed that they did have to train, but begged Hermione not to make a schedule. He claimed that he didn’t skip school to learn.

As Hermione was about to yell at him the real reason they left, Harry stepped in and grabbed the bag. “Come on,” he said to them as he walked down the stairs, not waiting for an answer. He was going to change their arguing constantly. He didn’t want to deal with it for who knows how long.

Soon, all of them were picking up frozen steaks and placing them in the bag. Harry had put an impervious charm on the bag, hoping it would work. It did. They had, in total, one hundred and thirty-two steaks in the bag. Some quick math from Hermione revealed that each could have forty-three steaks in total. After they placed them in the freezer, Harry placed warming charms around the room, getting rid of the frost and eventual water and grease. After the place was a little bit slippery, but warm enough, Harry cast fire spells around the room. One time, Harry could’ve sworn that he saw some bright blue rings.

After the room was warm enough, Harry went back upstairs to find Ron and Hermione arguing…again.

“But he is still a living thing!” Hermione yelled, exasperated.

“Has everyone seemed to forget that he was still a ruddy traitor?” Ron retorted.

“Ron, he’s useful now, isn’t he? He is loyal to Harry now!”

“I didn’t see him take an Unbreakable oath, did you?”

“He told us about the locket!”

“And Harry sent him after it. He could be with Bellatrix, planning on how to kill us right now!”

Hermione’s eyes showed a tear about to form. She seemed to not have a reply. Harry almost wanted to curse Ron when he saw the growing smirk, as if he had won something. It was time to end it.

“What is the problem?” Harry yelled. In all honesty, he thought they would’ve started arguing sooner than two days after they left.

Hermione turned to him, her tone considerately softer. “Ron was arguing about how Kreacher doesn’t deserve any steaks because he still isn’t trustworthy enough.” Her voice may have softened, but the venom in her voice was unmistakable.

“Well, you can’t blame me,” Ron retorted, this time towards Harry. “You know what Kreacher did! Why should we trust him? Why shouldn’t we just give him clothes right now?”

“Because we saw what Kreacher has been through,” Harry explained to him as if he were a very small and incredibly stupid child. “The way I see it, the only person who was nice to him was Regulus, and since he died, he became bitter and hated everyone. Bellatrix and Narcissa were probably nice to him. So, the way to understand it is: Be nice to him, and he’ll be nice back.”

Ron was speechless; this didn’t surprise him as much when he saw Hermione speechless. Ron then seemed to think about what Harry said.

“Fine,” he said after a few long seconds, “but I’ll still be suspicious.”

“And you have every right to be,” Harry said as he pulled out his wand. “But he’ll still get a steak for dinner the nights he gets here. Anyone up for a duel?”

Hermione smiled a mischievous, playful, and revengeful smile at Ron. Ron gulped. Harry smiled at the two. It looked like he had found a new way for them to argue at each other. Ron would probably be the one crying in the end, though.

They spent the rest of the day, not actually dueling, but practicing spells. They agreed that they should train first, duel later. Harry used one of Hermione’s books on defense andspellcasting.

The next day, Harry was engrossed in the book, forgetting to eat, until Hermione slammed the book shut and handed him a grilled steak.

“Thanks,” Harry said, finally noticing his stomach growling as if it wanted Harry to swallow the steak whole.

“Harry,” Hermione started, “you need to eat more. While I love the fact that you’ve developed muscles,” she said with a small blush, “you’re still impossibly skinny. I think you should eat _at least_  twice a day. No excuses.”

“But what if I want to read my book all day?” Harry asked innocently.

“No excuses,” she repeated, and blushed a moment later. Harry had just reminded her of the many times he pulled her from the library to eat. Harry smirked and ate as he flipped to the page he was on and continued reading the book.

“You know we can’t live on steaks,” Harry said after a few minutes.

Hermione looked at him curiously. Since when has Harry worried about eating the proper food groups?

“What?” Harry said, noticing Hermione’s gaze.

“Who are you?”

“Come again?” Now he was incredibly confused.

“You’re a completely different person, Harry. I hope you realize that.”

“I’m not that much different, am I? I think I’m just more… determined.”

“What do you mean? To kill Voldemort?”

Harry shook his head. “No. That’s not all. I’m more determined to finish this whole thing. This is a war. I’m destined to kill the general of the opposing side. Voldemort is the general, of course. But I realized that Voldemort isn’t my only target. There’s the rest of the Death Eaters. Voldemort may have been the one who caused me the most pain and everyone else, but he has lackeys that helped accomplish most of it, while causing pain to others, also. I’m going to seriously harm, possibly kill, all of them, next time I get the chance. They show no mercy when killing others; why should I show them any mercy? This time, when I kill Voldemort, there will be no leftovers.” He said all of this with a grim look.

Hermione blinked at the man before her. He seemed to finally understand the weight on his shoulders, and what surprised her most was that he was handling it well, excellently even. This was not the Harry she had known before. This was a new Harry. A Harry that was ready for war and the actions that came with the word. She could see it in his eyes. Those deep emerald eyes that spoke of pain, power, courage, strength, and determination. She could see that in the forefront. It shone brightly. Hermione wanted to share all of it. And that was when she realized that when that time came, when the moment of life and death finally approached…Harry would give it his all against Voldemort, and she would make sure that she was beside him, making sure that his lackeys were writhing in pain for all they had caused him.

For the first time ever, Hermione almost felt sorry for Tom Riddle.

“You won’t be alone,” she said firmly. Harry looked up at her in mild shock. He had thought that she would not do anything of the sort. “You’re right, Harry. This is war. We need to act like it is war. No second chances; at least Snape taught us something. No mercy. If they are on Voldemort’s side, we either kill or disable them…permanently.”

Now Harry was in complete shock. He hadn’t noticed that he dropped his fork on the plate, letting it clatter along with the knife. “Hermione…” he started.

“No, Harry,” she said, knowing what he was abut to say. “I am in this war as much as you are. I chose you at my own will. I will keep following you at my own will. The only way you can get rid of me is death, and I don’t plan on that happening in about a century or two. This was the reason I sent my parents to Australia. To fight and live. If anyone tries to do harm to us, we will harm back. I sometimes forget that we are not little kids anymore. That we just look around for Horcruxes and find some way to kill Voldemort. It’s much more complicated, and we mustn’t forget that again.”

Harry felt ashamed that he had brought Hermione into all of this. He felt ashamed that she didn’t go hiding with her parents. He felt ashamed that she had befriended him in the first place, being in constant trouble with him ever since she had.

But he needed her.

And that would be his weakness, should anything happen to her.

He just had to accept it.

“We won’t,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “Finding the Horcruxes and killing Voldemort is our main goal. There are…” He fished around for a word, “…sub-goals to accomplish, too. We have to make ourselves strong enough to compete with his Inner Circle, at the least. We need to learn dark spells, too. Lupin said that George’s ear was cursed off, so he couldn’t re-grow it. We will only use stunning spells, disarming spells, and other jinxes and hexes in training duels. When we are faced with lethal spells, we fight back with lethal spells. No exceptions. We can’t hold back, no matter their gender, strength…” He looked straight at Hermione with a serious expression that she didn’t know he had. “…or age.”

That slightly faltered Hermione, but she knew that Harry was right. If they were faced with Draco, Pansy, Millicent, or anyone who was on Voldemort’s side, they  _would_  die.

“Do you know how to become an Animagus?” Harry said out of nowhere.

Hermione heard his pleading voice and couldn’t bear to turn around to see his sparkling eyes she knew were there, pleading with her. “I-I c-can read on it,” she stuttered, her resolve broken down. One of these days, she wouldn’t be able to fight herself to snog him senseless. She had fought it down for years, but now that she knew that he would allow it, the urge was getting stronger by leaps and bounds every day.

“Good,” he whispered, “‘cause that might be helpful in the future, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I agree. Should we tell Ron about the offer?”

“You want to become one, too?” Harry said with a grin.

“Yes, why?” Hermione asked, grinning back.

“Because you’d be an  _illegal_  animagus.”

“We don’t have laws anymore; remember, Harry?”

“I still think it’s amusing,” Harry muttered as he turned back to his now slightly warm steak.

“Do you have the book in the bag?” Harry said in between bites.

“I have a book on human transfiguration,” she told him after a second of mentally checking her inventory. “I’ll check if there is a section on becoming an animagus.”

“I hope I have a powerful form,” Harry muttered, more to himself.

“I know you’ll have a powerful form, Harry,” she said reassuringly.

“But how do you—”

“Harry! Hermione!”

Harry shot up and ran toward the stairs, thinking Ron was in danger, Hermione shortly following.

“How could anyone have gotten in without us noticing?” Hermione said urgently, hot on his heels.

“I don’t know,” Harry said as they reached the top of the steps. “Ron!” he shouted for him.

“Over here!” Ron shouted back from Harry’s side. Harry looked over so fast and saw Ron looking out of the window.

“What?” Harry asked urgently as he ran over to the window.

Ron silently pointed out of the window to two men who were standing across the street, smoking and taking glances at the place they couldn’t see.

“Death Eaters,” Ron explained, calming Harry down.

“You scared me,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath. “They’ve been there since yesterday!”

“Oh,” Ron said sheepishly, “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” said an irritated Hermione, wheezing for breath. “Harry,” she said as Harry held her up by putting her arm around his shoulders, “tell him.”

Harry sighed and told Ron about their discovery of not letting Death Eaters go easy next time they meet up with them. He also told them of their need to become an animagus, and the topic of Horcruxes he and Hermione had the day before. To say that Ron was shocked would be quite the understatement.

“We have to kill?” Ron screamed, still stuck on the first topic. He had waited until Harry was finished, but now he was exploding with questions. “Have you gone off the deep end, Harry?Unforgivable Curses?”

As long as we don’t accidentally make a Horcrux, I don’t see what the problem is,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s illegal. And if they tried to kill us, then—”

“Then we’ll knock ‘em out and send them to Azkaban!” Ron reasoned in a loud voice.

“And they’ll just get out again,” Hermione countered. “The Ministry owns Azkaban, remember. In this new Wizarding world, there are only two rules you can choose to follow: One is tokill, and two…”

“Is to  _be killed_ ,” Harry finished. “No rules, no boundaries. There’s also that sacred unwritten law that says, ‘Obey Lord Voldemort at all times’, although I’m sure we broke that law. I’m surprised, Ron; you don’t want to break the rules and Hermione couldn’t care less.”

“But these are  _laws_ ,” he shouted.

“Which are obsolete until we take down Voldemort,” Hermione reminded him once again. “When I’m faced with a Death Eater, I won’t hesitate to kill. I’m not saying we should use the Killing Curse, but at least a powerful ‘ _reducto_ ’ or a very powerful stunning spell to the chest. I’m not going to just stun him and give him the chance to be re-enervated by his pals and get me while I wasn’t paying attention.” Hermione had still never forgiven herself for when that happened. Thinking back on it, she was almost happy that Harry took out Dolohov.

“If you don’t want to use the AK, then I’ll use it on the Horcrux. You should work on some dark curses. I wish I had that book with me. It had a few useful curses in there.”

He didn’t notice Hermione stiffen for a short second.

“I’m not using that curse on anyone or anything!” Harry groaned at Ron’s defiance, but accepted. There were only six Horcruxes, anyway (if it worked, of course.)

“Fine,” Harry agreed, “but are you gonna at least stop using weak spells like a disarming spell?”

“I’ll think about it,” Ron promised after a few seconds of mulling it over.

“Alright,” Harry said after a tense silence, “Anybody want to actually start dueling?”

Hermione sighed as she leaned off of Harry. “I need to exercise,” she said, more to herself. “I think I should jog around the room before I join you guys.”

They all left the room, Hermione to get towels for all three, and Harry and Ron to the room to duel. Harry and Ron immediately took their stance and started casting spells. Ron was excellent in the beginning, thanks to his DA training, but soon faltered; Harry guessed that it was because he was in better shape himself, proving his theory of being in shape to be better in a duel.

Hermione was taking a short jog around the room, watching the two duel with interest. She had noticed how Harry was in a crouched position and kept is eyes trained on Ron’s. He was taking slow steps and shallow breaths, according to the rise and fall of his chest. She noticed that he was barely muttering the spells, while Ron was practically screaming them, yet their spells seemed to match intensity and power, if not Harry’s were stronger. She finally saw Ron’s wand flick out of his hand towards Harry, who deftly caught it, sweating lightly.

Ron, on the other hand, was sweating profusely, and seemed to be happy that the duel was over. This confirmed Hermione’s thoughts as Ron promptly passed out.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked with alarm as she ran over.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Harry said as he levitated Ron’s prone body before Hermione conjured a simple folding chair for him to sit in.

“Conjurations won’t last a long time, Harry,” she said in a warning tone as Harry sat Ron’s limp form down, his head lolling over the edge of the chair.

“That’s gonna leave a crook later,” Harry said as he conjured a large pillow to cushion Ron’s back and head. “That’s better…I guess.”

“Congratulations, Harry. You want to duel again?” Hermione asked with a challenging smirk towards Harry.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry stuttered.

“Why?” she questioned innocently. “Are you afraid that I might beat you?”

“That’s exactly why,” Harry said, raising his hands as if he was already giving up.

Hermione made a small humming noise before she slowly walked away from him. Harry was mesmerized by the swaying of her hips before he ducked a red light. He looked up to see Hermione smirking, her wand raised. He smirked back at her sneakiness.

“I need to learn nonverbal magic,” he whispered to himself as he took his stance.

**< HP><DH><HP><Take—Two><DH><HP><DH>**

Two days later, Hermione was reading a big book of Human Transfigurations that Harry teasingly called ‘light reading’. She had found the chapter on becoming an Animagus. It seemed that it started with making a potion that had simple ingredients to make, but Hermione was not sure where to get the ingredients. She figured she should find out how to get the ingredients before she could continue. She really didn’t want to ‘harvest’ them herself, so she wondered if there were any cabinets in Grimmauld Place for Potion ingredients. TheWolfsbane potion had to have come from somewhere. She should’ve read the beginning before Kreacher arrived for dinner.

She smiled as she remembered the previous night. Harry was the most amazing cook she had ever seen. The things that man could do with just steaks were simply unbelievable! When Kreacher arrived, he was quite taken aback when he noticed the scent of Harry’s cooking, but didn’t complain. Ron was taken aback by Kreacher being there. He was never told of Harry’s deal with Kreacher. When told, Ron just shook his head, mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘mental’ and went back to his steak.

Kreacher looked like he was ready to faint when Harry told them to join him for dinner, but once again, didn’t complain. He seemed to be in bliss when he tasted the steak. Well, so was everyone except Harry, but Kreacher seemed to be on Cloud Nine, if he knew what that meant.

When eating was over and conversations went around, Harry broke the iceberg by asking Kreacher to be his teacher. Kreacher was shocked, to say the least. He was stuttering at Harry, who was trying to explain that he wanted to have a better control of his magic and learn how to use nonverbal and (possibly) wandless magic.

He then asked a calmed down Kreacher if there was a major difference between magical cores of house-elves and humans. Kreacher replied that he didn’t know, but he said that he would try to teach his master after he had found Mundungus. He then proceeded to beg Harry to not let him return for dinner every other night. It seemed that Kreacher was desperate to spend every bit of time to look for Mundungus and get that locket back. Harry reluctantly gave in.

Hermione was still smiling when the lights started blinking on and off. She looked to the left to see Ron click the Deluminator on and off. She really began to believe that Dumbledore gave him that thing to turn off the lights. “Would you mind?” she asked after a few minutes of frustration.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, “I don’t know I’m doing it.”

“There are other things to do around the house, such as exercising.”

“Will I feel the same as when I dueled Harry yesterday?”

“More or less.”

“No, thanks.”

“No pain, no gain.”

“That was a lot of pain, and I don’t think I gained anything.”

“It takes time, Ron.”

“And I’ll have plenty of time to do that…later.”

Hermione groaned with a smile as Harry walked in the room.

“If Snape shows up here with a dozen Death Eaters, you’re in trouble, Ron.”

Before Ron could reply, there was a small knock at the door, followed by metallic clicks.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron pulled out their wands as Harry ran to the shadows behind the elf heads, Hermione following. Ron hid on the other side. Harry had a particularly lethal curse on his lips – Sectumsempra – before the door opened. The three waited silently as a cloaked figure entered the house and stepped forward. Harry realized that it was not a Death Eater; the cloak was brown, not the usual black. Before Harry could concentrate on the stranger’s features, Moody’s voice rang out.

“Severus Snape?”

The familiar dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed towards the stranger, who calmly and quietly said, “It was not I who killed you, Albus.” The dust exploded once more and the stranger became hidden behind the smoke. Harry had realized that whoever the man was had been there before, as he knew exactly what to say. His voice was too soft to hear him well. Harry pointed towards the middle of the dust closet.

“State your name and business or die, your choice,” Harry said with authority.

“Remus Lupin,” said the voice, slightly hitched.

Ron blew a breath of relief and lowered his wand. Harry and Hermione, however, kept the wands trained in the smoke that was not clearing.

“Reveal yourself,” Harry said, reaching the bottom of the stairs to get better aim. He knew he couldn’t take any chances.

Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, showing his graying hair and unkempt features. “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the fur creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphodora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

Harry tilted his head at Remus. “That’s common knowledge, isn’t it? I mean, Mundungus and Pettigrew could’ve provided all of that. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you a question.”

“Fire away,” the man who claimed to be Remus said, grinning with pride.

Harry seemed to consider his question before he smiled and tilted his head the other way. “What did we eat for breakfast?”

“Brilliant,” Hermione whispered. She never would’ve thought of a question that sneaky.

“That is a very good question, Harry,” the man said, awe identifiable in his voice. His nose seemed to twitch for a few seconds before he finally answered. “I see you’ve found my steak vault, then?”

Harry and Hermione smiled as they lowered their wands and ran down the stairs, Ron following, to hug the no-longer imposter. “Good to see you, Remus,” Harry said to him.

“It’s good to see you, too, Harry, Hermione, Ron. Ron, you shouldn’t lower your defenses so easily.”

Ron grinned sheepishly and muttered a ‘Sorry’ before he asked, “How did you know we ate steaks?”

“Heightened senses,” Remus replied before ruffling Harry’s head while Harry groaned good-heartedly. “So, how are you doing? I figured you guys will be here.”

“You were right,” Harry said, “but what happened on your end?”

“We are all alright, but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside. I had to apparate precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”

Harry nodded before they walked into the kitchen, where Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from his cloak. Hermione grabbed a grilled steak from the stove and conjured a plate. She then handed it to Remus.

“Someone is quite the chef,” Remus noted as he took a small sniff of the steak.

“It was Harry,” Hermione and Ron said at the same time, causing Harry to duck his head in embarrassment.

“So, what brings you here?” Harry asked Remus before he got any more compliments.

“I wanted to check on you three since the attack, but I had a Death Eater tailing me.” Remus took a bite of his steak as Hermione served the rest. “Harry, this is really good! Too bad the Dursleys gave you cooking skills; I would have to make their death quicker to thank them.”

This brought a chuckle out of Harry before Remus continued. “Did you come straight here after the wedding?”

“No, we went to Tottenham Court Road,” Hermione explained as she sat down next to Harry, “but we ran into a couple of Death Eaters.”

Remus dropped the steak onto the plate.

“ _What?_ ”

Harry gave a quick re-cap. “Went to a café, deciding on where to go, Death Eaters came in and took a table across from us, but we didn’t notice yet until Hermione recognized one of them; _Dolohov_.” Harry spat that name like a particularly nasty curse word. So I killed him and Hermione gave his partner a memory charm. Stupid, now that I think about it. I should’ve killed them both.”

Remus was gobsmacked and aghast, to name a few. “Harry…did you just s-say…you  _killed_  someone?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod and an unreadable expression, “And he won’t be the last.”

“But—”

“Remus,” Harry politely interrupted the man, “could you please tell me how they found us? I’ll answer your questions about my actions later.”

Remus studied the man before him. He could definitely tell that Harry had changed. Harry seemed to finally understand the difference between ‘disarm’ and ‘disable’. He still thought it too much to kill, but he did not fault Harry for it. “Alright, Harry,” he finally said, “but only because you make a mean steak.

“I don’t know how they could’ve found you,” Lupin continued. “It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”

“Are you sure there is no other way to find someone?” Harry pleaded. He had almost forgotten the danger of what they had faced then, that every time they went out of the protection of aFidelius Charm, Death eaters, possibly even Voldemort, are immediately alerted to where they are.

“I wouldn’t know,” Remus said tiredly. “You don’t have the trace, so they couldn’t have found you that way.”

Before Harry could ask another question, Ron asked, “What’s up at the Burrow? Did anything happen?”

Remus sighed as he put down the steak once again. He longingly looked at the steak and looked at Ron. “I’ll give you a summary.

“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow thoroughly for you and interrogated us for a few hours, but nobody but the Order knew you were there. The Burrow wasn’t the only place searched; it was all of the other members’ houses, too, but thankfully, no one was killed. Dedalus Diggle’s house was burned, but you knew he wasn’t there. They used the  _Cruciatus_  on Tonks’s family. They’re both okay, thankfully.” He then proceeded to eat as much steak as he could before they could ask another question.

When he finished, he noticed Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face. “Something on your mind, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “I’m a wanted criminal, aren’t I?”

Remus shook his head with a dry chuckle. “No, but you are very close. You’re wanted.”

“For what? Hermione asked curiously.

Lupin gave yet another tired sigh. Harry could tell that it wasn’t good news. “Dumbledore’s death. You’re wanted because they want answers, since you… saw it.”

“ _What?_ ” Ron and Hermione yelled at the same, and Hermione continued. That’s outrageous! That’s preposterous! That’s—”

“—Not so unbelievable, though,” Harry finished for her. They turned to see Harry with a thoughtful expression on his face. “So, if the Daily Prophet is working for the Ministry, now – I’m guessing the Ministry threatened to take their jobs or take out the newspaper company itself – then, according to the reactions from fourth year, I can’t even leave the house…without Glamour Charms, of course.”

Lupin nodded. “I suppose so. I have a copy of the Prophet with me, if you want it.”

“That would be something to hang on my wall,” Harry jokingly said. “Tell me, if I stay out long enough, will they have an old edited picture of me foaming at the mouth and laughing hysterically? It would mean a lot to Sirius.”

That broke the ice, as Remus gave out a full laugh that would’ve passed for a howl, while Hermione and Ron laughed along with him.

“I don’t remember how long ago I laughed like that, Harry,” Remus said, still chuckling. After a few moments, he slowly began to grow serious. I think I should tell you about Scrimgeour, as well. The official news was that he resigned, and was replaced by Pius Thickness, who’s under the  _Imperius_.”

“Figures,” Harry mumbled. “He still doesn’t want to get out in the open. He’s still running behind the scenes. I thought he would’ve made himself known by now. I can’t believe no one’s figured it out. No one’s suspicious about Voldemort taking over the world?”

“They  _do_  know,” Remus stated, “but they don’t know who to trust and who not to trust. Remember, most that have figured it out are parents that would do anything to protect their children. The best thing to do right now is to keep quiet and lay low.”

“Wimps,” Harry muttered, “but I guess it can’t be helped if you have children. Directing people to attack me and not Tom. Controlling everything in the background while everyone remains oblivious. This is a clever game he’s playing, I have to admit. I’m sure I’m not the only target, though. Is there someone else to look out for and bring in handcuffs? The Order, maybe?”

“No,” Remus said, pulling out the Daily Prophet, “Muggle-borns.”

“Clever, but predictable,” Harry said somberly. Remus handed the paper to Harry. He saw the headline, ‘WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE’, before he chuckled lightly and turned the page. He read quickly through the paper, paled and handed it to Hermione next to him.

“No one better fall for this,” he muttered darkly to her. Hermione gave him a confused look before she looked at the newspaper. While she was reading, Harry explained to Ron, “They think that Muggle-borns stole their magic from Purebloods, turning them into a squib. That’s what they said, anyways. They said that they need to be interviewed and have their family history to prove that they had a relative or ancestor who does magic. Personally, I think he overdid it a bit, but seeing as how everyone that reads the  _Prophet_  doesn’t have a lot of common sense, everyone’s gonna either start turning people in or turn themselves in, if they’re stupid enough.”

“This is outrageous,” Hermione half-screamed, causing Harry to almost fall off of his chair, given that he was only a foot away from her mouth. “Oh…sorry, Harry…. But who in their right mind would fall for this?”

“The wizarding world,” Harry answered, before he looked back at Remus. “Anything else? Like Hogwarts? Will everyone there be safe?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Not completely, anyway. Attendance is now mandatory for every young witch and Wizard. That was announced yesterday. That’s never happened before. Almost every witch and Wizard has been educated at Hogwarts, but it was at their own discretion, and their parents’.”

“Pathetic,” Harry spat. “He has access to all of the children. Next thing you know, Death Eaters will be allowed in the school. No Muggle-borns are allowed to go to school either, right?”

Remus shakily nodded. It seemed to Harry that Remus wanted to say something that was uneasy for him.

“Out with it, Moony. Something wrong?”

Lupin looked up at the name, then cleared his throat. “I-I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this Harry—”

“I’ll answer all of your questions, Remus. Most of them, anyway.”

Remus nodded, still uneasy, Harry noticed. “The Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

Harry nodded, slightly understanding where this was going. “He did. Ron and Hermione are going to help me complete that job.”

“Can you confide in me what the mission is?”

“I have to kill Voldemort.”

Remus went paler than he was before.

“You didn’t know?” Harry asked curiously.

“I did, but I don’t like hearing it,” Remus said, shaking his head, trying to get the colour back to his face. “But I know that’s not what Dumbledore told you. There’s something else. Can you tell me what it is?”

“No, Remus… I’m sorry, but I can’t. Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone but Hermione and Ron. Although I really don’t care anymore, I don’t think I should tell you. I just can’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t care anymore?” Remus asked him.

“Dumbledore sent me to the Dursleys and got me in danger every single year, seemingly without knowing. Now I got this on my shoulders. Excuse me for being a little pissed off at him. I can tell someone who I really trust, but only when there is no way that person will ever be near a Death Eater… or the ministry…or near any kind of danger from people who want information from me.”

Remus seemed perplexed that Harry would say that, but continued with his ‘offer’, Harry knew.

“Although I wouldn’t say that about Dumbledore, I mean he tried his best,” he heard a light snort in Harry’s direction, but didn’t question it, “but I still might be able to help you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

“No,” Harry said immediately.

“Why not?” Remus said, an air of anger surrounding him. “Could you at least hear me out first?”

“I did. No.”

“But why?” Remus asked again, this time with pleading in his voice.

Harry looked at him, his eyes searching for something on Remus for a full fifteen seconds. “What about Tonks?”

Hermione seemed to perk up when she heard Tonks’s name. Harry guessed that she was going to ask that question, also. However, Remus seemed to pale once again.

“She’s alright,” he said. “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll be safe there.”

“Didn’t you just say that the Ministry could get through anything… except the Fidelius? She should be here, shouldn’t she?”

“No, she shouldn’t. I—” Remus started, his throat suddenly gone dry. Harry got up and made a glass of water. He immediately handed it to Remus, who looked at it with guilt. He took a sip. Before he could try to drink the whole glass, the water disappeared. He looked at Harry. His arms were folded and he was looking at Remus as if he wanted answers. He was demanding answers. Remus was so worried that he didn’t notice that none of the people in the room were holding a wand. Remus took a long sigh.

“Tonks is having a baby.”

“How wonderful!” Hermione squealed.

“Excellent!” Ron said at the same time.

“What!” Harry yelled in shock, surprising the other occupants. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Remus asked him, his ‘protect cub’ instinct emerging.

Harry was about to give him a good screaming, but stopped himself. He didn’t want Remus to feel any guiltier than he probably was at the moment. He went back to the original conversation, wondering why the hell Remus would have a kid with Tonks in the beginning of a war, especially if they were active soldiers.

“Remus, he started, “that had absolutely nothing to do with my question. Although it did strengthen it. It gives me more reason why she should be here. So, why not, and this time, don’t avoid the question.” Harry had a serious expression that made even Remus gulp.

“I…I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I—”

“Hold it,” Harry interrupted in an icy tone. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to have dropped dramatically. “Are you saying that you  _don’t_  love Tonks?”

“Of course I love her,” Remus said, insulted.

“It seemed to me that Tonks loves you. You two are having a child together, and now you’re leaving her?”

Lupin sprang to his feet, toppling the chair over. Harry seemed to have hit a nerve. “Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have marriedher, I’ve made her an outcast!”

Harry shook his head at Remus in disgust. “Continue,” Harry simply said.

“You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child – the child—”

Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged. Harry was still glaring at Remus, not hindered.

“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”

“You know what would make a kid ashamed of their father?” Harry asked him, not waiting for an answer. “Their dad leaving them and not raising them like a dad should do.”

“Harry,” Hermione said in a warning tone.

“He needs to hear this,” Harry said as he turned away to acknowledge her. When Hermione didn’t argue, he turned back to Remus. “Here’s the way that I see it.

“You love Tonks. She loves you. You two marry. You two have a kid together. I guess you would feel better if the baby wasn’t yours so you’re sure he wouldn’t get lycanthropy.” He noticed the narrowed eyes of his former professor, but continued. Someone had to tell him. “Yet she loves you so much, she wouldn’t even think along those lines, so I’m sure that the baby is yours. You finally have a family. You finally have a chance to live a life, even in the midst of war. You finally get the chance to raise your child and nurture him along with your wife.

“Instead you want to leave your wife and unborn child to enter the war. Your wife will miss you. Your son was never given the chance to decide if he wanted you for a father. I don’t understand how you could be so selfish. You think that  _you_  are the only one in danger? You seem to have forgotten her relatives. She is related to Bellatrix  _and_  Malfoy. Voldemort most likely knows that you two are married. He’ll kill her and the baby without a second thought.

“I don’t want your help. I don’t  _need_  your help. Hermione and Ron are all the help I want and need. James and Sirius would be sickened…although Peter would be quite proud.”

Lupin had finally had enough. He reached his wand faster than Harry ever did in his life.

But Harry didn’t reach for his wand.

He made no move to grab the wand in his front pocket.

Actually, he had forgotten the wand.

Who needed magic when you were a mere two feet away?

He forgot the wand, because he punched him in the nose.

Shocked by Harry’s action and the overwhelming raw energy in Harry’s punch, Remus staggered back and his wand slipped from his fingers. Before he could attempt to reach the wand again, another blow got to his cheek, with even more strength. Remus tried to block his face, but that only exposed his stomach…then chest…then both shoulders at the same time…to Harry. Finally submitting to and shouting out in pain, Remus fell against the wall he didn’t know he backed up against. His lip was bleeding. He felt blood arise in his throat, but fought it down. His eyes were blurry, unfocused.

And it just hit him. Remus Lupin, former Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, werewolf, and one of the best duelists in the Order, had just been beaten by a seventeen-year-old.

Hermione and Ron were in a stunned silence. They watched as Harry simply walked over to Lupin’s dropped wand and picked it up. Hermione read his expression. She saw a disturbing calmness in his physical appearance, but Hermione saw the pain in eyes. He didn’t want to do that, she knew, but Remus would’ve just left after Harry was hit. She almost wanted to curse Remus for what he tried to do. Harry walked back over to Remus and crouched over him before he looked at him for a long second. Remus’s eyes were unfocused. Harry pointed Remus’swand at his throat. That seemed to awaken him out of his semi-unconsciousness.

“Try that again,” Harry growled, “and you’ll figure out why Voldemort could never beat me. And I didn’t even need my wand this time.”

“Get…get off…” Remus said, also growling, and Harry could almost see the ferocity of a wolf in him.

Harry pressed on, unperturbed. “Are you going to hex me if I do? You know, you can’t really get out your anger with a stick and words. I need my fists. Could be because I’m Muggle-raised. Could be because my hands and feet were the only protection from Dudley and his gang. Or it could just be because I hadn’t done it in a while. Either you’re going to listen to me, or I risk my life to go over to Tonks and bring her here. Your choice; go to her or you both stay with me. No loopholes, no exceptions. What’s it gonna be?”

Remus was breathing raggedly, his mind trying to process the information given to him. How did Harry’s punching get so bloody…bloody?

“He’s right, you know,” Hermione commented steadily. “You shouldn’t just up and leave her like that, especially after getting her pregnant.”

“Look, Remus,” Harry said once he realized that Hermione was done, “if there is one thing I ever learned from Dumbledore, it’s this; you have to choose between what’s right and what’s easy. The easy thing for me to do is to run away to the Muggle world and live happily as a Muggle for the rest of my life. The right thing is to kill Voldemort, or try, at least. Which one did I choose?”

“Go to your wife,” Hermione said calmly. “Help her. Endure through her mood swings. Be there when the baby is born. Be there to take care of him or her. Most importantly; be there to love them both, no matter what condition the baby will be in. You told me that your kind doesn’t usually breed. Then how do you know that your child will get lycanthropy one hundred percent? Even so, if Harry was born with…” She searched for an appropriate word, “…AIDS…or cancer, would James or Lily love him any less? I, for one, wouldn’t think so. I would have to agree with Harry that James would be very upset at you. I am. Harry is. And you say that he is just like his father.”

Remus could just not stop paling after each an every sentence. He feared that he had gone whiter than Tonks ever could with her metamorphmagus abilities. He knew that what Harry and Hermione were saying was absolutely right…but it was too hard.

“It may be hard,” Harry said, as if hearing his thoughts, “but it’s right. Nothing in life is easy, so I’ve heard. According to my life I think I have proved that theory correct.”

Remus opened his mouth, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “What ab-bout you?”

“What about me?” Harry asked warily.

“Your g-girlfriend…you left her...”

“I don’t have one,” Harry said.

“Ginny…was bragging about it…”

“Ginny’s not my girlfriend. Sure, she was for a short while, but I realized that she didn’t like me for me. She liked the Boy Who Lived, just like everyone else. But Tonks loves you. Go to her.” Harry finally stood up and backed away to give Remus a little space, but still kept Lupin’s wand trained on him.

Lupin steadily stood up. He needed the wall for support as he pulled himself up. Remus didn’t think that Harry was that strong. He had taken more punches than this, but…this was too much. He could’ve sworn that at least one of his bones was broken.

“Harry…” Remus said slowly, clutching at his stomach, “…I know what you are saying…I,” he made a small grunt of pain, “understand what you’re saying. You’re right; James and Sirius must be disappointed in me right now. Although I bet that they’re beaming with pride at you now. Not a lot of people could stand up to a werewolf, much less knock one out.”

Remus let a stuttering breath and sucked in quickly, as if he was trying to suck up the pain. “You win, Harry. I’ll go to Tonks. And our baby. And Hermione was right; you are just like your father…although he would’ve reached for his wand.”

The young Wizard gave a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for attacking you, Remus, but you were sort of asking for it, taking your wand out and trying to curse me and everything.”

The werewolf hung his head in shame. Yes, I guess I did deserve that…even if I didn’t attack you, for that matter. I don’t think Tonks is going to be happy to see me when I go home.”

“You left your pregnant hormonal auror wife – who would kill anyone who called her by her first name – at home,” Hermione said, amused. “Use a strong shield charm when you enter the house.”

“Good call,” Remus grunted. “But…before I go, the offer still stands. I want to help you. Any questions that you have, anything that you need assistance.”

“There is,” Hermione and Harry said at the same time. They grinned at each other before Harry nodded for Hermione to speak. “Well, I’ve been reading this book on how to become an Animagus, and I need a few ingredients for the beginning potion.”

Remus gave a nod of understanding, but he was smiling as if he wasn’t in any pain at all. “You want to become an Animagus? That would be very helpful. James and Sirius would definitely be proud of you. I’ll have the potion in a few days. Anything else?”

“Yeah, there is…except I might need Tonks’ help for this.”

“What?” Remus asked curiously.

“Well... okay, well, how does a Wizard grow his hair?”

“If someone wants to grow their hair, he or she just needs to use a simple potion. The growing process does hurt a bit, which is why few people use it, but the results are usually worth it. Do you want to grow your hair out for better camouflage? I can get the potion if you want. Why do you need Tonks?”

“Well, when I was younger, and I had no knowledge about magic, Petunia used to give me unwanted haircuts. By the time we got home, my hair grew to the same length it was before. I didn’t know that it even grew until Petunia…told me. I know that it was accidental magic, but I wanted to ask Tonks – if it’s not any trouble – exactly how rare are Metamorphmages.”

There was silence for a short moment from Remus, and Harry felt a little uncomfortable, if not incredibly stupid. It was then that he realized that Remus was in deep thought. He looked around to see Ron look at him like he was barmy, no doubt, and Hermione looking at him with an unreadable expression – Harry didn’t think he had seen that before. Before he could question her, Remus spoke.

“That doesn’t sound like normal accidental magic,” he muttered. “Harry,” he said aloud, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up; I’ll talk to Dora before I jump to any conclusions.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He really wondered if he could be an Animagus. It would be incredibly helpful, he figured, if the form was useful. He handed Remus his wand as he shook his hand. Remus pulled Harry into a hug before Harry could let go.

“Keep the one you love most close to you,” Remus whispered in Harry’s ear, so softly that Harry had to strain. “My nose can smell a lot more than food, Harry. Such as fear… courage… lust… can’t smell love, but I can see that plainly. Lily must be proud of you, too.” Before Harry could comprehend what Remus said, Remus broke apart and walked towards the door. “If you need any help, I’ll be back soon. Best of luck.” And with that, he opened the door and immediately closed it once he stepped out.

There was a short silence that followed, and Harry felt that he was tired. For some reason, he had felt weak since he had punched Remus but put up a strong face. He walked to the stairs, intent on catching some sleep.

Ten minutes later, he groggily opened his eyes to a stern Hermione Granger and gulped. He didn’t know what he did wrong, but he really wished he didn’t do it. She seemed to support Harry when he beat up Remus. He couldn’t remember what else he did wrong, though.

“Explain,” she said rather calmly.

“Explain what?” Harry said. “I did a lot of stuff that needs explaining.”

“Explain why you didn’t talk to me about you possibly being a metamorphmagus. First.” It was the same calm tone that had Harry suppressing shudders.

“I wasn’t sure I was right.”

“And that explains the entire situation?”

“I didn’t want to look like a fool.”

“Have I ever made you look like a fool before?”

“No. But I really wanted reassurance that I might be one. Your hopes might have been up.”

“They certainly would have been. And they are now. It just would’ve happened sooner than now. Remember when we used to tell each other everything?”

Harry stayed silent, but nodded sleepily. It was the incident in sixth year that made Harry almost lose his faith in Hermione.

Hermione’s glare immediately changed into a frown directed towards herself. She too remembered when Harry had stopped confiding in her. She swore that it would never happen again. “Harry, please don’t try to keep secrets from me again. We’re in this together. I told you that before. Ron and I tell you everything, so you have to tell us everything.”

“She’s right, mate,” A voice said from the door. Hermione turned to see Ron standing in the doorway approaching them. “I don’t want to be kept in the dark. Sure, I might not agree with it at all, but I still want to know.”

They both nodded in Ron’s direction and smiled. “Of course, Ron,” Harry said, “you’ll never be kept in the dark. But can you leave me in the dark? I need my sleep.” Before they could speak again. Harry turned around in his bed and closed his eyes. Ron shook his head and laughed while Hermione smiled at the seemingly sleeping figure. When Ron left, Hermione leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek.

“I’m going have more questions for you tomorrow, Potter,” she said softly, but sternly. She kissed his cheek again before she stood and was about to leave before something caught her eye.

She saw Harry’s pants that he was wearing only fifteen minutes ago hanging on the edge of a transfigured iron board. They were obviously baggy beyond belief and were so tattered,transfiguration could only do so much. Hermione made a mental note to find some pants around the house that will fit Harry or go to a department store.

The pair of pants wasn’t what caught her attention, however.

It was the large wallet-sized bulge in his front right pocket that did.

Hermione was frozen on the spot. She could not believe what it was. She knew that inside of Harry’s pocket was the reason that Hermione had gotten her best friend back…the reason she received her first kiss…the reason she could finally let out that she was madly in love with Harry Potter. Well, let it out to herself, at least.

She had to talk to it. She had to update her on everything that happened. She had to check if it had told Harry something that she didn’t want to be told. She had to see if the charms were still up. She even had more charms to add.

She smacked herself. Literally and figuratively. Her forehead began throbbing with pain, and she was sure that it was turning red. She deserved it, she figured. She didn’t take a picture of Remus! How could she forget something like that?

“You know, you could get a concussion like that,” Harry sleepily said. She turned around to see him facing her, his green eyes half-lidded. “What got you so frustrated?”

Hermione ashamedly pointed at the bulge in Harry’s pocket. Harry stared at it for a short second, before he nodded.

“You want to talk to her?”

“Well, yes… but we forgot to get a picture of Remus!” she urgently whispered.

“We can get a picture of him next time,” Harry reasoned. “He was bruised, remember? I don’t want his picture grunting in pain. Those cuts stay on him, don’t they? They can’t heal when they’re in a picture, right?”

“Oh, I…” Hermione formed an embarrassed blush redder than the print on her forehead, “…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Let’s talk to her,” Harry whispered, preparing to get up.

“You sleep, Harry. I know you’re very tired. I’ll fill her in on everything. Good night.”

Harry was already asleep before she pulled the album out of his pants pocket. Hermione smiled at his sleeping form and quietly left the room.

She was walking down the steps and barely said “Herm—” before she was interrupted by a crack. A familiar and – at the moment – very pleasant voice yelled out around the house from the kitchen.

_“Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master!”_


	7. Changes

_“Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master!”_

Hermione froze. An exciting shiver slowly went through her spine. Kreacher was here? Now? With Mundungus? Why did he have to have such bad timing? She turned towards Harry’s room. She heard no noise, so Harry must still be sleeping. She took one look at the emerald and gold album in her hand and sighed, before heading off towards the source downstairs, pocketing the album as she did so.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw an unusual sight. She saw a straggly, unkempt man, full-grown, bound and gagged in ropes by the mercy of a small, shriveled elf holding a large frying pan. She would’ve laughed, for it immediately reminded her of a cartoon of a cat and mouse, but the seriousness of it all kept her face impassive.

She pulled out her wand from her back pocket, just to be safe. “Good job, Kreacher,” she said sincerely. She wanted to hug the elf, but knew that he would be disgusted, and she didn’t want that to happen. “Harry will thank you when he awakes.”

The elf seemed to be at war with himself for a moment, as she had seen before. Finally, he gave her a stiff bow, which slightly surprised Hermione. Even Mundungus’s eyes widened at his behaviour.

“What shall Kreacher do with Fletcher,  _Miss_?” He asked, the last word coming out in a half-hiss. Hermione took that as a turn for the better.

“Just sit him in a chair, please,” she said politely, and was awarded with a three-second slack-jawed gape from Kreacher. She really felt sorry for the house-elf, having very rarely heard ‘please’ from anyone. He then summoned a chair to him, facing Hermione, and practically threw Mundungus into it. Amazingly, he landed in an upright position.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. His hair was matted, his Wizarding robes were incredibly dirty. He smelled of tobacco, sweat, and she was sure that if he talked, his breath would be heavy with alcohol. But, thankfully, Kreacher had him gagged, also. Focusing back on his face, Hermione realized that he looked very nervous. She decided that the sooner she made him talk, the better.

She reached up and pulled the gag from Mundungus’s mouth, and immediately regretted it.

“Wha’ve I done?” He yelled angrily, and her theory on Mundungus being drunk was correct. “Setting a bleedin’ house-elf on me, what are you playin’—?!”

Hermione pointed her wand at Mundungus. It was so close to his face, he almost went cross-eyed. He gulped and looked back up at her.

She had no intention of actually hurting him, but she felt intimidation was the best approach here. “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” she said primly, as if teaching a lesson, “and I want you to answer them all promptly and truthfully. If I even  _think_  you’re lying, I know enough cutlery charms to get a different answer from you. Is that understood?”

The man gulped comically.

Harry woke up an hour later. He heard the flip of a page. He looked up to see Hermione sitting on the bunk bed she never really slept on, reading. After they had thoroughly searched the house, they had deemed three rooms absolutely safe. Hermione had decided that in case Harry was to have another vision of Voldemort’s happenings, she would record the messages if Harry repeated the messages aloud. That, of course, required her to stay in the room that Harry was sleeping in. Harry was not sure what the motive was, and Ron was jumping to a conclusion in his mind. Unfortunately for him, he was jumping to all of the right conclusions, but he dared not voice them.

They had a decision to make. They would either tell Ron or keep it a secret for now. That option was brutally stolen from them on their last heart-to-heart conversation.

_“I don’t want to be kept in the dark. Sure, I might not agree with it at all, but I still want to know.”_

They really didn’t think much of it when he said it. They were really thinking about the war ahead of him, not what happened earlier. And besides, he hadn’t really told anyone about his relationship with Lavender, and this seemed like a situation that they really didn’t need public. Besides, they planned on telling him eventually. Harry and she didn’t even know what their relationship really was at that moment. However, they knew they had to tell Ron  _something_  in order to keep his friendship.

However, Harry knew that Ron wouldn’t forgive him. Ron would feel betrayed somehow. While nothing had  _ever_  happened between Ron and Hermione, Harry knew Ron would still feel like he was stabbed in the back.

Although Harry nor Hermione had never understood why. Ron had liked Hermione for a few years now, yet he  _never_  made a move. Unless you could count the disaster of ‘How to ask a girl to the ball.’ To this day, Ron did not know what he did wrong.

And this really irked her at times. She eventually came to realize that Ron was not very bright, nor was he very  _aware_  of the things he says. He has never really said anything nice to her unintentionally; it was always either a very mean thing to say, or just a joke that was taken as an insult.

Hermione shook her head as she kept reading, her mind on autopilot. She had little hope for Ron ever finding a girl that could tolerate him. While Luna would be good for him, he wouldn’t be good for Luna. Ron would never change, she knew. She’s been trying to change Ron for years, but he was the same as always.

She sighed softly. Some things never change.

It was then that she felt that someone was watching her. She looked up to see Harry, sleep-addled, looking at her through misty eyes. She silently closed her book and stood. Harry’s eyes followed as she approached him and knelt down to him. “How was your sleep?”

Harry shook his head somewhat wildly and smiled that grin of his. “Refreshing. How long was I out?”

“About five hours,” She told him. And 43 minutes. But who’s counting anyway? It’s not like she had anything else to do. No one could go to the Training room alone to do spellwork for safety reasons, and Ron never even wanted to enter the room again. So she was stuck here. Not that she minded, of course.

Harry nodded and sat up gingerly. “What’ve you been doing while I was out?”

“Reading, mostly.” Hermione told him, plopping herself on the bed beside him. Harry only smirked in response, and she swatted him in the shoulder, making them both chuckle.

This was what Hermione loved about Harry. Any slightly hurtful joke, comment, or sarcastic remark that may have formed in his mind was never voiced. He had never once insulted her, intentionally or unintentionally. He was always aware of her feelings on a subject, such as her love of learning, or her views of house-elves, and so on.

She loved that about him. She loved him.

And she wasn’t going to let anyone think any different.

The two just stayed like that, sitting together on the bed, relishing one of the peaceful moments that they were sure were going to be scarce in the near future. When they would be hunted.

No, Harry began thinking, already making the decision. When it was their time, they would be the ones hunting. They weren’t going to sit around while Voldemort hunted down his loved ones, then step out when there was no one left. No, If Tom wanted a fight, then Harry was going to train enough to give him one.

Besides, he couldn’t just hide. That would be too…Slytherin of him.

Hermione looked up to see the determined face of her…partner. “Penny for your thoughts, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “Knut,” he corrected, and she smiled. “I was just thinking. I know we aren’t strong enough to take on Voldemort at the moment…but why do we have to hide like this? We can easily take out those guards outside. We can take your bag and take everything we need with us, cook the steaks and put them on a warming charm or something, it doesn’t matter! We can’t keep hiding like this, especially if they are pretty much sure that we are here.” He scratched his hair, a sign of frustration marring his features.

“I don’t think the steaks will last very long like that, but I’ll see about a preservation charm.” Hermione thought for a second. “I could go to a grocery for some bags.” She stopped and frowned. “We should use what little money we have wisely, though. But I don’t think the guards know that for a fact. The Weasleys have people looking at them and their house as well. They might have people at places you might visit.”

Harry sighed. “In that case, maybe the safest place for me right now  _would_  be the Dursleys.”

Hermione gave a sound of distaste. “That reminds me. If they aren’t killed yet, I’m going to pay them a visit someday.”

He saw the gleam in her eyes, and finally decided that whatever she was thinking, the Dursleys had it coming to them. He still felt a bit sorry for them, though; He always steered clear of Hermione when she was mad, on those few occasions that he couldn’t get her to calm down. He leaned back into the headboard and Hermione rested on his shoulder. They were silent for a few minutes, until Hermione broke the silence.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Have we always sat together like this before?”

Harry smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, mimicking the way they sat together since third year. “Like this, yeah.”

“This…this is the first time that I’m actually thinking that this isn’t right.” She leaned up and looked at him. “Should we stop? I mean, until we decide to tell Ron something.”

As a response, Harry pulled her closer, making her squeak. “If we’re going to tell him anything, it might as well be right now. I’d rather not wait; it’ll only make things worse.”

Hermione considered his words. “I don’t think he’ll take it well. But if we wait longer, he’ll think we’ve had a conspiracy against him the entire time.”

Harry gave a sad smile. “That’s how I feel sometime. Like someone knows something about me that I don’t know.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “What do you mean?”

He leaned his head and stared at the ceiling. “Well, the Dursleys never told me about my parents or about magic. Dumbledore never told me the real reason Voldemort wanted to kill me until fifth year, and I have the training of an average wizard. I could understand if he trained me, and then tell me, but…he didn’t. He waited until I was an emotional wreck that had almost nothing else to lose.” By now, Harry had pulled Hermione closer to him, hugging her tightly, but not the least bit uncomfortably. He was absorbed in his musings, slowly putting his life in hindsight. “No one bothered to tell me about a prophecy that involved me. I don’t think Sirius knew, but I’m beginning to think that everyone else did.”

“I’m sure they didn’t know Harry,” Hermione told him, a concerned frown on her face. They would’ve told him about the reason Voldemort was trying to kill him if they knew, right? “I mean, Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t have told you, but I’m sure Remus or Mr. Weasley would have. And I’m positive Sirius would have!”

Harry shook his head. “They probably didn’t tell know all of it. I mean, I guess he knew that a prophecy exists, but that’s all. Could be the same for everyone else. They probably didn’t even know what they were guarding.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t tell them?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

He looked at her with a grim look. “Dumbledore never tells anyone anything.”

Hermione was about to speak, but her mouth closed with an almost audible pop. She was trying to think of an example where Harry was wrong, where Dumbledore did tell them the complete story about something. The Philosopher’s Stone? No, he never told them why he hid it in the school, or why he just hadn’t put it in his office, or even his pocket or something. The fabled truth about Sirius being Harry’s Secret-Keeper? Mr. Weasley knew, according to his talk with Harry before they had left for Hogwarts four years ago. Why didn’t the headmaster tell Harry? Sure, Harry likely would’ve gone after Sirius, but he’s a wanted man! Everyone was looking for Sirius, how was Harry going to find him, never mind escape Hogwarts grounds? No, Dumbledore kept that information from him as well. Legilimency? Why did it take five years until Harry found out about mind-reading? Harry didn’t even know that Voldemort could invade his mind through his scar, or that anyone with the mental arts could invade his mind just by looking at him. Dumbledore always gave Harry bits and pieces of information, never the whole picture.

Did he even tell Harry why he liked socks so much?!

“That bastard.” Hermione muttered to herself. Every type of danger that Harry either found or was found in, he did with partial knowledge. Well, except Quidditch. He only came out with just enough knowledge to stay alive! But why? Why would he do all of this? How could he just let Harry get into all of this danger? Sure, Fawkes saved him once. And only once. She only believed in Deus ex machina in movies, but this wasn’t a movie. There were quite a few instances where Dumbledore could’ve saved them, or told them about a danger, instead of standing in the shadows, his eyes twinkling, presuming that everything was going to be alright. Why, though? Why did he have to go through all of those years at Hogwarts, facing dangers  _every single year_ , clueless? She wasn’t going to blame all on Dumbledore, though; Harry should have studied once in a while. But study what? She was just as clueless sometimes when she was in the danger with him. Fine, he was clueless for good reason. They never had the material to gain knowledge from…because Dumbledore didn’t want them to have the knowledge. Dumbledore, or an inside source, told them what was mandatory for them to know, and nothing else. He didn’t want them to know, because…because….

Harry chuckled out loud, surprised he wasn’t shocked at her language. Hermione did not take notice. He wondered what conclusions she had reached by now. Knowing her, she was almost at the conclusion he had reached a month ago.

“It was all a test,” She said numbly, her mind seeing no other logical conclusions. “It had to be. Dumbledore knew everything, yet he told you almost nothing! From the Philosopher’s Stone to the Horcruxes –” She stopped, seeming to have remembered something else. “He even knew Draco was trying to bring Death Eaters into the school!” She turned to Harry, his face impassive. “Wait – you knew?”

“I had a while to think about it after he died,” Harry confirmed. “I was trying to think about all he’s done for me. Then, I started thinking about things he could’ve told me, and things he hadn’t done for me.” He frowned. “One list heavily outweighs the other.”

Hermione turned and stared at the wall in shock. Their beloved headmaster, testing Harry (and probably Ron and her) the entire time. Just so it could all lead to that “Final Battle” with Voldemort. Dumbledore was a warrior first, a headmaster second. That was the only reason he would endanger so many students every year.  _‘The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.’_  Yes, tell them the warning without an explanation. They wouldn’t be curious at all!

Hermione was silent for a few more minutes, until she finally said, “Do you think there’s anything useful in that children’s book anyway?”

Harry had shaken his head, but nodded halfway through. “There’s a symbol in it…I’ve seen it before, I know I have.”

“What symbol?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brows.

“Where’s the book?” Harry asked, and Hermione grudgingly left Harry’s embrace to get off the bed and stand. She walked out the room and Harry quickly followed.

When they reached the downstairs room, Harry looked through the open doors to the kitchen to see a crumpled form sitting on a chair, tied up in ropes. He looked towards Hermione, who flushed in embarrassment. She had completely forgotten about Mundungus. She picked up her book on the table and explained. “Kreacher returned shortly after you went to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you back up, so I talked to Mundungus.” Hermione sighed. This was the hard part. “It’s at the ministry.”

Harry frowned. “Okay, we’ll just ask Mr. Weasley to –”

“With Umbridge.”

“Shit.”

“I was thinking that,” Hermione said, glaring at her friend. “But I didn’t say it.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, looking at Mundungus’s prone form before looking back at Hermione. He quickly looked back at the figure in the chair and noticed a welt on the side of his head. “You…actually tortured him?” He looked over to Hermione with a little bit of shock, and more than a little bit of pride.

She felt her cheeks heat up more. “That was Kreacher. He hit him with a frying pan.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, and Hermione chuckled with him. After they shared a good laugh at Mundungus’s expense, Harry quickly sobered. “But what do we do with him? He knows where we are now, and since we’re all secret-keepers, he’s one too.”

Hermione blanched. “You’re right! And since he’s a secret-keeper, we can’t Obliviate the location from him. We can’t alter his memories at all about this place. He’ll definitely tell someone where we are, especially if he gets caught again. If The Ministry looks for him again, word will get to Voldemort and…wait. Why aren’t we worried that Snape can attack us at any time?”

Harry turned away, rubbing the back of his head.

“Harry?”

Harry gave a sheepish grin as he turned back to her. “Well…about that. I’m kind of…hoping for it…”

She quickly understood the meaning behind him and hit him on the shoulder. “Harry! How could you! You want him to come in here! So you can kill him! At a time like this! What if he brings a group? We can’t possibly take all of them out! What was your plan?”

He absently rubbed his arm as he grinned sheepishly. “I was just kidding, Hermione. You’re just cute when you’re frustrated.”

She didn’t know whether to blush again or hit him again. So she did both. Harry laughed as he dodged it. “What’s the real reason, Harry?” She asked, shaking her head at him with mirth.

“Actually, I just figured that if he hasn’t revealed where we are already, then he likely isn’t going to. I mean, at first I thought that since he killed the secret-keeper, that he was automatically out of the loop. But Mr. Weasley told me Snape should still be a secret-keeper since he knew of the location.

“I also figured that Snape didn’t want to tell Voldy just yet. I don’t think he wants anyone to know. If he ever decides to step through those doors, it would be by himself. You know as well as I do that he always wanted to kill me personally, if he ever got that chance. Now he does.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to kill you personally? What if he wants to watch while other Death Eaters…torture you.”

That gave Harry pause. “I didn’t really think about that. I suppose that would be the more Slytherin thing to do.

“You’re right; this place is not as safe as we thought. We should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, and they began to pack.

After an hour, all of their own belongings were packed. Hermione only had out her toiletries, the two books (The Nursery Book and the Human Transfiguration Book) and her clothes for the next day. Harry only had out his toiletries and his clothes. He had transfigured one of his old cast-offs into a sack that Hermione could place the steaks into, after applying the right charms (warming, weightless and stasis) and put all of the bags in the kitchen, between the stairs and the basement. That way, wherever they were, they could easily get to it fast enough.

As Harry walked through the house once more, wondering if there was anything of value that he needed to bring with them, Hermione sat at the kitchen table, evaluating the last few days of her life. In her hands, was a seemingly normal pocket-sized photo album. Whatever was happening between Harry and her was because of this album. She just didn’t know  _how_  or  _what_  happened. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t even talk to her. Now, he smiles whenever he sees her. There was no doubt she loved the change in him, but why so spontaneous? Harry had rarely shown affection for her before, but after a month of talking to just a magical picture of her, she could practically see the connection between them mend itself and tighten, going stronger every day.

That was what led her to the next topic. Ron. She set her elbows on the table and groaned tirelessly in her hands. She had, in order to distance herself from Harry, come onto Ron the previous year. She felt that she should apologize to him before Harry and she told Ron about them.

And then she remembered the lavender accident again. That always made her angry before. Even now, it did. But she was never once jealous of that moment. It looked quite disgusting, actually, the way they were making out. She could have sworn Ron’s tongue entered her nostril for a moment. She shuddered.

No, she was just angry. Angry at Ron for being a prick. Yes, while she would admit to herself that she was a bitch the previous year for all that she did, she had come to realize her mistakes. She had apologized to Harry, and Harry had forgiven her. And she was slowly beginning to forgive herself. But Ron was completely oblivious as always. There was absolutely no hint that he had given her that he was sorry for what he did. Hermione didn’t need an apology. She had no romantic feelings for him.

But it was just  _rude_. How does he ever expect to get a girlfriend with that attitude? She knew Lavender. She was a nice girl. She was a bit clingy, yes, and could never keep a secret if her magic counted on it, but she was pretty sure Lavender had actual feelings for Ron, despite her…wild… past. Maybe, if Ron decided to return to Hogwarts, he would be with Lavender, or maybe even Luna, and after the war, they could all be friends again?

‘Friends again…’ The thought more or less disturbed her. Ron and she had never really become  _friends_ , per se. Sure, they both hung out with Harry a lot, but every time they walked together, Harry was always in the middle. True, they became acquaintances, and Hermione did his homework, but that was it. Looking back, she  _really_  shouldn’t have done most of his homework. It was something she had done to herself back in Elementary School; she had done all of her ‘friends’ homework so they would stay around longer. They were more like bullies in the pretense of friends. Over time, she had gotten used to it, and sometimes, she even enjoyed it. But doing it every week for Ron – who never even proofread it, just put it in his bag and walked away, not even saying thanks, like it was her job as his friend – made her tired. Now, it made her angry. Well, angrier.

No, after this, if Ron freaked out and got angry at either of them just because they were…well, seeing where things were going, then she wouldn’t forgive him. Ever. She was honestly bone-tired of being near him. His off-handed insults, his hatred of learning anything worth learning, his utter cluelessness to anything that wasn’t Quidditch or Chess. She just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

What did Harry see in him?

Oh, right. He was Harry’s first friend. And by default, or maybe because she was a girl, he was Harry’s  _best_  friend. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Harry had met her first, instead of Ron. She smiled at what could have changed.

But there was one thing she was sure of; she wouldn’t want to change it, to risk losing what she had now.

Another part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione had never become friends with Ron. They would have probably been the worst of enemies.

She slowly rose from the table, her chair making an audible creak as it slid backwards. The only conundrum now would obviously be the toughest; if, whatever the outcome, Harry stayed friends with Ron, and they still be  _best_  friends, would she be able to spend the rest of her life being around Ron, being his  _friend_ , if only to not upset Harry?

Yes. Yes she would.

It wasn’t a hard decision at all, in hindsight. As long as she had Harry with her, she could quite literally do anything.

Just as she started smiling, Harry walked in the door, totally oblivious to her musings. “I told Kreacher what was going on, and he said that all I need to do is shout his name wherever we are, and he’ll hear me.” He stopped when she shook out of her thoughts. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” she answered meekly. She decided to tell him after they told Ron. It was his reaction that depended on what would happen next.

She took a deep breath. “He’s probably sleeping. Should we tell him now?”

Harry dragged his hand through his hair, immediately understanding what she was talking about. He looked very uncomfortable, and for a second, Hermione wondered if he was choosing who he was going to confess bad news to. Harry looked back at her and saw the terror in her eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head and mumbled “nothing.” Harry quickly strode around the table, turned her to him and made her look him directly in the eye. “Hermione? What’s wrong? I don’t want to tell him either, but We  _have_  to. He’s our best friend.”

She winced. This was going to be a very awkward conversation, and she was not looking forward to it. “Harry,” she half-whispered, half-strained. “It’s not that. Just…I…I’ll tell you after we tell Ron. I think there’s something you should know, but it can wait.”

She almost blurted it out at the look of pure concern and worry on his face. “It’s nothing important,” she stressed, “It’s just that I would much rather not say it now. I promise I’ll tell you after we deal with Ron.”

He wasn’t convinced, obviously. It was something that was obviously distressing her. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling, trusting her completely. She’d tell him later.

No words were needed as they trudged up the stairs. Harry found this an opportune moment to open the book and look for the symbol. He wasn’t really  _that_  concerned about telling Ron. While Ron, in the privacy of his dorm, had shown hints that he was attracted to Hermione, he had always been very vocal of the witches he would sleep with when talking to Seamus and Dean. Hermione never came up in the conversation. Well, when Harry was around, at least. So, while Ron had implied feelings for Hermione, there were plenty of other fish in the sea, and Ron had more than implied that he would like to swim with any of them.

But…then again, he  _did_  read a book for her.

Harry shook his head of his own musings and flipped back a few pages. He had absently flipped a few that he hadn’t checked thoroughly. He was thinking to hard about this. Whatever happened was going to happen, his only job was damage control. He slipped his wand from his pocket to his sleeve, hiding it from view while gripping it tightly. He didn’t expect to use it, but Ron had quite the temper and Harry wanted to make sure.

For some reason, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this was really going to change anything. He made his choice and, hopefully, Hermione had made hers. If Ron wasn’t going to accept it, then Harry wasn’t going to put up an argument. They couldn’t have any type of tension while they were searching for the Horcruxes. He almost shuddered when he realized how crazy he would’ve gone if he had to put up with Ron and Hermione’s famous arguments until Voldemort was dead. He was, however, thankful, that it was only one-way sexual tension.

Harry reached the door and without preamble, knocked. He waited a few seconds before he knocked again, harder. He sighed. “No use. He snores like a construction site.” He tried again, this time practically punching the door.

“Alright, alright! I’m up already!” Several seconds later, a disgruntled Ron opened the door, looking as if he needed just a few more days of sleepy. “Waddyouwan?”

Harry had to smile at his best friend’s appearance. This would be the last amusing memory of Ron, something told him. “Ron,” He started, deciding to get right into it, “we need to talk to you.”

Ron nodded and yawned widely before he let them in his room. He hadn’t bothered taking off any of his clothes before he went to bed, so he was only mildly embarrassed when he noticed Hermione was with him.

Hermione still had to sniff at Ron’s lack of manners. He didn’t even cover his mouth when he yawned! They both chose to sit on the foot of the bed while Ron plopped back down, laying horizontally. “‘Bout what?” Ron yawned again, feeling sleepy again.

“Well,” Hermione started, “It could’ve waited –”

“So let it wait,” Ron interrupted, rolling over.

“You told us not to leave you out of anything.” Harry reminded him, wondering if he should douse him with cold water. For his sake or Ron’s, he wasn’t sure.

“And? How important is it?”

“Very!” Harry and Hermione yelled at the same time, making Ron snort loudly in surprise and waking him up fully for the time being. He sat up and looked at his friends’ serious faces. “What? We found a horcrux or something?”

“No…well, yes, but,” Hermione stammered, “that’s not why we –”

“We found a horcrux! Alright! Where is it?”

“Ron, calm down –”

“I can’t calm down! We found a horcrux! Well, where is it?”

“Ron, we’ll tell you where it is if you listen –”

“Listen to what? What could be more important than a horcrux?”

“Ron!”

“What?”

Harry looked between the two, wondering what made him believe that  _this_  was sexual tension. “Hermione was trying to tell you,” He spoke slowly, expecting another explosion, “that we, as in ‘Hermione and I,’ need to tell you something.”

Ron stopped glaring at Hermione and looked over to Harry, listening with mild interest. It couldn’t be better than a Horcrux, could it?

“You said a few hours ago, that you didn’t want to be kept out of the loop. That you wanted to know everything that we knew, and not be kept in the dark.”

Ron nodded, wondering where this was going.

Harry looked over to Hermione, who was still glaring daggers at Ron. She felt the need to blurt it out the second he shouted, but that would end in an even louder shouting match. Harry restrained himself from putting his hand over hers to calm her. This has to be done without bodily contact. That much was certain.

Harry released a sigh. “Hermione and I have…well…decided to start…a relationship.” Harry chose his words carefully.

Ron snapped his head towards Hermione, as if he had just been slapped towards her. Now he was fully awake. “What?” He asked her, for the first time in a long time, speaking softly to her.

Hermione waited for a more concrete reaction, while Ron waited for a confirmation. Finally, she relented. “Harry and I had an honest conversation about our feelings for each other,” Hermione started, and before Ron could interrupt,  _again_ , she continued quickly. “And we decided to see where it would go from here.”

At first, Ron looked like he did not want to accept it. He just looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione, back and forth, back and forth. They both had neutral expressions on their faces, trying not to show any emotions. They both knew their friend; they waited to see Ron’s reaction, before they jumped to any conclusions.

Sadly, Ron acted just as both Harry and Hermione expected. The tips of Ron’s ears tinged red, and Harry had decided to talk before Mt. Weasley erupted. “We decided on it today, Ron. And Hermione wanted to clear up a few things – ”

“What? What things?” he began, angrier than the two of them had seen in a while from him. “What could you possibly have anything to say about, huh?! And how the hell did this happen? While I was  _sleeping_?” Ron rolled over to the end of the bed to stand, and Harry got up, pulling Hermione up with him. He didn’t let go of her hand. “You know, I should’ve known something when I realized that you couldn’t have done that much sweating from  _casting spells_!” Ron looked at them, disgusted at them both. But they kept an impassive face, but Hermione’s was starting to crack a little. “You know, this is just fucking great! I try to impress  _you_ ,” he almost hissed at Hermione, “with a bloody book – bet you  _love_  that I know how to pick up one of those things – and now Harry decided that he’s too good for my sister and to go after you! Of all people! He could’ve chosen Ginny, Cho, Padma, hell, any girl at Hogwarts, or any girl in the whole bloody world! But he just had to choose the one – the  _one_  girl I wanted!” He rounded back to Harry, missing Hermione’s shocked face, as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. “You knew…you  _knew_  I wanted her! And you just had to take that away from me, too, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t take anything from you!” Harry spat, “And how was I supposed to know? You never said anything! I  _like_  Hermione, so I  _told_  her. We  _talked_. I didn’t look from afar and make fun of her while I got my feelings straight! I didn’t argue with her just because I think she’s cute when she cries! I didn’t have to read a damn book to know what she likes!”

“You’re the boy-who- _fucking_ -lived! You don’t need to woo any girl to get into her knickers! I just didn’t know Hermione was that…that…  _EASY_ to—”

The very next second was a blur to everyone. Harry slid his wand down his hand and clenched his fist around it, the glimmers of anger starting to adorn his features. Ron was turning to Hermione, who was on his left. He was busy avoiding their entwined hands, and had not noticed Harry holding his wand in his other. He had plenty more words planned for both of his former friends, and he had every intention of reducing Hermione to tears.

Therefore, when the next second passed, He didn’t really know why he falling to the ground, the entire side of his face feeling a large sting, that would, in a few seconds, turn into a hot-red burn on the entire side of his face. He landed with a thump, and shook his lips as the wind in his lungs escaped him, still confused of why he was there, why was he hurting, and which one of them did it.

Hermione shook her wrist, loosening her hand as Ron fell to the ground, sputtering. Harry quickly turned to her, almost forgetting his mounting anger. Hermione, who had  _only_  slapped Ron, now balled up her fist, shaking with rage.

Hermione had never liked violence. She never wanted to do anything that involved violence. When she first received the letter to Hogwarts, dueling hadn’t even entered her mind until Defense Against the Dark Arts appeared on her schedule.

Then Harry Potter entered her life.

Hermione couldn’t lie to herself; she had seen more violence than the average girl. Her first year until now was getting bloodier and bloodier. It, of course, all came to a head when Harry killed the man who had haunted her dreams for the summer after her fifth year. If she could be honest, he was partly the reason why she tried to distance herself from Harry. Well, the damage that he caused.

Seeing a man decapitated… changed a person. In some way, shape, or form, he or she will always be changed by an extreme act of violence, at least the first time. That, she knew. However, she had promised herself long ago that if she had ever performed any act of violence, she swore she would never change for the worse.

But she also knew that however affected she was, nothing compared to what Harry had seen in his past. He had seen death at one, lived in an abusive home, had inadvertently killed at eleven, was forced to kill again at twelve, saw the death of a friend at fourteen, saw the death of his own godfather at fifteen, and saw Dumbledore killed just two months earlier.

And now Harry had killed again. He wasn’t forced to, but he did. Because he  _wanted_  to kill Dolohov. He had a choice, he could’ve bound him and wait for the Aurors, who by then were all under Voldemort’s control. It was the stupid thing to do, but it was the  _right_  thing to do. He could’ve just stunned the two and they all escape scot-free, and let them live. Of course, they would’ve been back, since it was still a mystery of how Harry was found there. But Harry had killed Dolohov for simply no reason.

Or was it really just the reason she suspected? Was it  _really_  all because of her? Did Harry kill him simply for Hermione’s sake?

Hermione really didn’t know what to feel about that. All she knew was right here, right now. If Harry was this war-driven, she knew she needed to be helpful.

She had made another promise a long time ago; a promise that was much more important than becoming something she never wanted to become, just for her own sake. She had promised herself that she would never, ever,  _ever_  leave Harry’s side, and to help him with her full abilities in whatever he needed help with. Wherever Harry went, she wasn’t far behind. If Harry was this far in the war he had technically started, but never wanted, she wanted to be in the center as well. And if Harry had what it took to take a life, for  _her_ , then she knew that she wasn’t far from having to take a life herself in this time of war. Because when it came down to it, she wasn’t going to choose their lives over her own. She had someone to live for.

However, she had something to admit to herself as she shook her hand, and she voiced it aloud. “That felt good,” she whispered. And it was about to feel better for her. Quickly sidestepping Harry, who made no motion to stop her, she approached Ron, her ears ringing with what he had said not ten seconds ago, and kicked him hard in the ribs. Ron screamed in pain as he hunched over. “What was that? What did you say? _Easy_? I’ll show you how easy I am…” She raised her foot.

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice reached her. Only her head tuned to acknowledge him. Her foot was hovering above Ron’s pelvis, and she was going to bring it down with all her might. Hermione just stared at Harry, her eyes showing the hatred that she held for the man below her. She was going to strike him again. Whether he wanted her to or not.

However, he had not called her to stop. He was angry as well, but Hermione more so. “Do whatever you want. Just…don’t kick him there. Please.”

Hermione considered it while Ron tried to scamper away. “It’s not a kick,” Hermione replied as she swiftly raised a hand and summoned him back. “It’s a love-tap.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Hermione had just summoned a human wandlessly. His books said that was impossible. He knew Hermione was angry, but he felt that being in the same room with her at the moment was unsafe. He decided that it would be best to supervise while Hermione let out all of  _her_  tension. Her purely physical tension.

“You demean my  _chastity_ , you  _think_  of me as an  _object_ , and you compare me to a  _common whore_?! I am  _not_  something you  _want_ , Ronald! I’m not a damn  _thing_!” Hermione screamed, kicking him to give more emphasis to her words. “If Harry wasn’t in here, no girl would have the  _pleasure_  of being wanted by you  _again_!”

She stopped to rest her foot. “You’re lucky, you know,” She said casually, her glare being anything but. “You were our friend. If you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t be holding back.” She paused to sit down on the bed. “I don’t really think you were  _ever_  my friend. In fact, if Harry never made friends with you, we’d have probably been enemies.”

Ron rolled over to face her, still in a fetal position. He was seething, even as he held his stomach dearly, threatening to release the two steaks he had before he went to bed. “We were friends in the first place because I SAVED you!”

Hermione’s glare intensified, and not seeing a reaction from Ron, she stood from the bed. “My feet aren’t hurting anymore,” she announced, and Ron tried to move, but his stomach was too sensitive to move around. Hermione had to smirk. She always knew that one day, his stomach would get him in trouble. “If you’re talking about our first year with that bloody troll, you didn’t  _save_  me,” she spat, approaching him. “You almost got me  _killed_  in the first place. And the only reason you were able to use that spell was because  _I told you how to do it right_!” Before she could finish the sentence, her foot was in motion, her frustration and anger from the past six years, simmering, had now boiled over. He had  _used_  her for six years, and a new thought surfaced; if she had continued to blindly pursue him, she would have been used for many more. So, without holding back, she began giving him the beating that she knew Ron deserved.

This continued for a full five minutes. During this time, to keep his mind off of what was happening in front of him, Harry had opened the book to search for the symbol again. He was still beyond angry at Ron, but he figured if anyone needed this more, it would be Hermione. He quickly found it on the corner next to the number. He concentrated on the symbol, so much that he had tuned out Ron’s grunts of pain and Hermione’s well-placed kick to his spine. That symbol…looked so familiar to him. He knew it was recent, but he couldn’t really trace it on anything.

Hermione stopped to look at what she had done. She looked and looked. Ron had started bleeding, his lip busted, clutching his stomach and rolling on the ground, howling in pain. He always managed to keep one of his hands cupping himself down there, but she had no intention of dirtying her shoes on it, though the thought had frequently crossed her mind. Her adrenaline rush was not quite over, but she was level-headed enough to look on with shock as she realized what she had done to him. She really didn’t mean to go that far. She was planning on punching his face in a bit, but every time she blinked and saw his face, she remembered every argument they had since year one. Her mind was running a mile a minute, remembering every argument that had left her in tears or almost-tears.

“Eighty-three.” She paused to take a long, shuddering breath. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she kneeled to “Eighty-three times I’ve had to deal with your shit! Two-hundred seven times I had to do your homework! Twelve of them were mandatory essays! Two hundred and eighty-four days of my life I wasted on you, waiting to see if you, of all people would change!”

She refused to cry. Ron would never make her cry again. She was going to admit it; she was proud of what she did. While she had lost her temper, she was almost glad that she did. It was when she noticed the tears that she felt, for the first time in her life, in control. She loved the feeling almost as much as she loved Harry.

Harry…she had just beaten up his best friend in front of him.

Her head snapped towards him; he was sitting on the bed now, his nose almost touching the page he was scrutinizing.

She looked back at Ron and then at Harry, whose lack of reaction she took as a good sign. She slowly took off her shoes and socks and sat on the bed. She looked over at Harry, whose eyes slowly widened at the picture, as if he had just rediscovered it. “You know where you saw the symbol from?” She asked. He didn’t hear her. “Harry?”

His head shot up and looked over to her. “What?” He asked, confused.

Hermione gave a tired smile. “Did you know where the symbol came from?”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Krum. He wore this on his shirt, I think. I’ll have to check with the pensieve, though.” The he remembered why she looked so tired and looked down. Ron was lying on the ground, still and bloodied. “Erm, Hermione? He’s just unconscious, right?”

She lazily looked over to the prone form. “I think so.”

Harry frowned. “So how are we going to fix this? We can’t just Obliviate him, he’s a secret keeper.”

Hermione looked at him. “What do you mean?” She whispered. She had no idea that Harry still wanted Ron to stay.

Harry was about to continue, but seeing Hermione so distressed caused him to want to give in. “We can’t kick him out,” he tried to explain. “What about those Death Eaters outside?”

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. “I don’t know, I’ll apparate him out! I’ll make a portkey! I’m not staying in this house with him any longer! You don’t know how…” she sighed the next word “ _addicting_  that was to me. When he insults me again, and he  _will_  insult me again, I will  _hurt_  him! I will try get stronger every day just to make sure I can pack a better punch! I am tired of this narcissistic, sadistic, incorrigible, alienating… bullying… despicable…”

“Prick,” Harry helped.

“Prick!” Hermione yelled immediately. She stopped and looked back at Harry.

Harry refrained from asking what she would’ve said if he supplied a swear. “Hermione,” he started, “Do you know how to make a Portkey?”

Hermione nodded so fast, her hair was trying to keep up. “I’ll set it for the Weasley’s house!” She smiled, standing up.

“Wait!” Harry called as she was almost out the door to look for something to use. “Do you really want this?” Seeing as she was confused, he clarified. “I mean, this is Ron, our friend of six years. You’re ready to really  _end_  it? We may probably never see him again. Plus that, we might have to move, since he knows where we are. We’re gonna have to leave here.”

Hermione leaned against the doorframe and thought to herself for a moment. “I suppose so…” She muttered. She looked over to him. “So we’ll be leaving after we kick him out?”

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or mourn. “I take it you want this?”

Hermione simply nodded and left the room to get her wand. Harry just stared at Ron’s unmoving body, wondering if this could’ve been avoided in any way. Figuring that while the pain he would be in would be extreme, but durable, he enervated Ron and silenced him. When Ron’s mouth opened in a groan, he decided to speak before he could say anything. “So…” Harry started coolly, making Ron freeze. The dispassionate tone in his voice was meant to scare Ron, but it was forced on Harry’s part. “I know I’m the one that was supposed to be beating you senselessly. So I’ll have to make up for it next time I see you. It is Hermione’s best intention that you stay as far as possible from her and me. With that said, we’ve decided that it’s best that you will not be with us while we search for Horcruxes. And besides, since I see that you clearly don’t approve of our relationship, I don’t think that you’ll like staying with us anyway.” His glare turned into a frown, and his voice finally showed his true emotions. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I didn’t think you’d both go that far. You  _knew_  that you crossed the line, so I guess Hermione decided to join you.

“She went too far. We both know that. I’m  _sure_  she knew that. And, in all likelihood, she’ll feel sorry for it later. If I had been the one beating you, she would’ve stopped me before I could throw a third punch.” He closed his eyes. “But I  _don’t know_  her pain. It could be completely justified in her mind. I don’t know how many times you guys have argued in the past, and I don’t know how many times she ran away crying, or had had her feelings hurt by you. You never seem to learn that words can hurt.” He blinked in recognition. “So, in her mind, she thinks that the words that you said is nothing compared to physical pain.”

He stopped and stood. “But that doesn’t excuse what you said to Hermione. So I’ll say it. In case you haven’t noticed, let me tick it off for you. One: Hermione never liked you. Two: We would have never done anything behind your back. It was only this morning that we decided to start anything. Three: I could’ve stopped Hermione anytime I wanted. I didn’t. Why, you might ask? Because you went too far. And Hermione got to you  _first_. And four, but I suppose you’ve figured this out already, though: you remember a few years ago? When you betrayed me, didn’t believe me, and overreacted?  I forgave you that time, because you were my best friend. No, scratch that. You were my first friend that I made at Hogwarts. Hagrid was my first friend ever. Hedwig was my first friend in the magical word. And Hermione….she’s my best friend. I _thought_  you were my best friend. She always had my best interests at heart, and I never paid attention. She was always by my side, and I treated her almost like my secretary, never a true friend. Looking back…I was stupid.” His eyes almost became misty reflecting on his past again, before they steeled. “But not as stupid as what you just did. What would you have said if Hermione didn’t hit you, and if I didn’t decide to end you? Would you have kept going on about her? Would you have called me a backstabber, and try to curse one of us? Or would you have just stomped out of here, not realizing that there are two Death Eaters out there, waiting for us to slip up?”

Harry gave a tired sigh, very weary of all the events that happened just today. “Maybe, you were my friend. And maybe, some part of me wants to stay that way. But I’ll move on. Hermione will move on, of that I’m sure. We’re going to do what you couldn’t and  _move on_. Hopefully, we’ll never cross paths again. Just…tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley we’re sorry for what we had to do. But realize this, Ron. We’re sorry. But we _don’t_  regret it.”

Ron only groaned. He was in too much pain to feel anything else. Deep in his heart, he knew that he had messed up. He knew that he had completely severed the ties between his two best friends and himself. But there was nothing he could do. His body wouldn’t allow movement, and he could only make short gasps as he held his broken ribs close.

A few short moments later, Hermione strolled into the room with her wand. She was holding a freshly handwritten note, with only a few sentences written, from what Harry could see. She kneeled next to Ron, who slowly peeked up at her.

Ron had nothing to say to her. He forced his eyes closed tight, conveying the message that he was ignoring her. Hermione smiled at the sight. She had nothing else to say to him as well. She dropped the note on his body. Three seconds later, and a bright flash of blue, Ronald Bilius Weasley had left both of their lives.

“I hate him.”

Harry’s frown almost twitched into a smile. “I know.”

She got up and sat on the bed. “No,” she clarified, “I don’t mean just today. I’ve  _always_  hated him.”

Harry had a look of pure surprise. “You…you did? Are you sure?”

Hermione gave another tired smile. “I’m pretty sure I know what hate feels like, Harry.”

“No, I mean…you’re not yourself right now. I mean you just beat him up, that’s not something you normally do. It’s adrenaline talking.”

Hermione turned to him, an almost amused smirk appearing. She could kind of see what he was talking about, but she had to make him understand. “Harry,” she started, “I told you that I would tell you what was bothering me as soon as we were done with Ron. I just did.”

Harry was dumbfounded to say the least. “You mean you…and he…I thought you two had at least…I mean, we were all together for six years!”

“No, Harry,” she gently chided, “I was with you, and Ron was with you. I never got to know nor care about Ron until sixth year, and even that was because I thought I had no other choice.”

“So…that famous ‘Golden Trio?’”

“I’d like to think of it as two separate Golden Duos. Or Golden Couples.”

Harry made a face. “Please don’t say that again.”

“Say what?”

“Golden Couple… I’m a one witch, no wizard kind of guy.”

Hermione gave an unlady-like snort. “That’s good to know.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his shoulder.

Harry immediately felt the difference. Hermione wasn’t tense at all. She was completely relaxed in his embrace. If anyone could compare the Hermione of a few hours ago and the Hermione of that very moment, one could say that she went through weeks of therapy, and got rid of all of her troubles.

Harry had finally found the symbol in the book and recognized, but he dropped the book to the ground in favor of holding Hermione. They both had to leave soon, they knew, so they enjoyed their last comfortable moment in Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

After ten minutes, they stepped out the front door with the invisibility cloak and turned on the spot, their lives and destinies changed forever.


	8. Niveo Noctuam Lardum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never really a big fan of Neville. He didn't do much, in my opinion, before he went all badass in the 7th book. It's time to badassify him again. So expect some jump-arounds in this chapter and in the future.

It was when they set up one of Mr. Weasley's tents, deep in the woods, not ten miles from Grimmauld Place, that Hermione truly realized the ramifications of what she did. The pain that she had caused what had been one of her best friends. The consequences that were sure to follow.

She  _had_  gone too far. She knew that. She had known that the moment she slapped him. She went too far. But she did not need consoling. She did not need a pat on the back. She didn't need pity or comforting. She only wanted peace.

And now, she finally had it. No needing to scream, no needing to defend every action she took, no one automatically rebuffing her suggestions, no more damned clicking –

The clicking? The Deluminator! She had completely forgotten – where could it be?

She asked Harry, and he looked a bit concerned. Checking his watch, he noticed that only twenty minutes had passed. He summoned Kreacher, and gave him three tasks. One, he would search for the Deluminator, and two, he would lock the house. Properly lock it, not just let anyone turn the knob and stare at a dust cloud. Three, he wanted Mundungus out of the house. Not in front of the watchers, but he really didn't care where else.

Hermione hastily added that Kreacher put a monitoring charm on the house before he popped away. He gave no indication of whether he heard or not. She knew she should probably feel something akin to sadness for the elf, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything at the moment. She was tired. She wordlessly slipped into bed and fell unconscious.

Harry crashed down on the chair in the corner and gave her form a tired smile.

He was very unfamiliar with the entre concept of love, and he had a terrible track record at relationships. Sure, he supposed he was a good boyfriend to Ginny. For two weeks. And she, for the first 13 years of her life, idolized him. He had probably messed up, and she turned a blind eye. And Cho. He had ruined the first date. In hindsight, they both made the mistake, thinking it would even work.

But, looking at her, he could never really put Hermione Granger and 'mistake' in the same sentence. The only people who had, in a way, told him that they loved him in his life was his parents, Sirius, Hedwig, and Dumbledore. All  _dead_. All  _taken_  from him. And Harry knew who Voldemort's next target was if Ron decided to spread the news around Hogwarts about his and Hermione's relationship. Of course he had considered the possibility. Ron  _could_  tell everyone, sure. He had no reason to  _not_  tell everyone. They didn't exactly threaten him to not tell anyone. They were well aware of Ron's big mouth. But all three of them were aware of Voldemort and what he could do. Every secret had to be kept. If Ron decided to reveal anything, being Harry's 'best friend,' everything would be valid. There would be no question, it was the truth. Even if he told lies.

Harry entertained himself with the idea of giving Ron a Blood Quill to write a few lines before he refocused on the issue.

Harry and Hermione were already wanted people. So revealing that they were together, would that really make a difference? They were already best friends, he had just as much to lose then as he did at this moment. He wasn't planning on losing anything or anyone, either way. He amended his earlier thought – Ron  _could_  reveal to the world his relationship status, it wouldn't matter. Hermione and he were on the run, that wasn't going to change. With Ron's status as a pureblood, he would be able to go to school. If he publicly denounced his friendship with his former friends, he would be okay. If he slipped out that they were once hiding at Grimmauld Place, they weren't there anymore, and well hidden away. Everything would be just as it is now.

But only Harry and Ron knew that if he ever revealed anything that could put Hermione in more danger than she was already in, he would kill him.

Harry wasn't stupid. The search for them wouldn't change. But he knew that if they were ever captured… Bad things would happen to both of them. Worse to Hermione. Because of how much she meant to him. Tom tended to be a sadistic bastard like that.

But Ron wasn't going to think that far ahead. He would stupidly open his mouth, preaching out against his 'betrayers.' And then Harry would put his name somewhere on his schedule. Of course Hermione couldn't find out –

He was planning Ron's murder! Ron hadn't even done anything yet! He began to feel horrible for his train of thought.

Still, if Hermione had taught him anything, it was to always have a plan ready.

Kreacher returned with the deluminator, explaining that it was in Ron's room at Grimmauld Place, on the floor. He said that the tasks were completed, before he popped away. The Black Manor was still unsafe to go to, however; they could rough it out for a week or two.

Hermione groaned and turned over in her sleep. He got up and adjusted the covers on her and went to his own bed. He found himself staring at the last empty bed and wished that it were filled. Hermione and he may have been the ones who kicked Ron out, but they felt abandoned.

They felt alone.

And when Hermione grumbled Harry's name in her sleep and sleepily whisper that everything was alright, he couldn't help but agree.

He wasn't good with the concept of love. But he was a quick learner. And Hermione was a good teacher.

He clicked the lights off with his new toy and quickly fell asleep.

He didn't even consider the thought that Ron could easily betray the Wizarding World with one word. A word that could incite fear and paranoia in Tom's mind. A word that, if said loudly enough, could alter the entire adventure of the Chosen One and his Chosen.

 _Horcruxes_.

* * *

 

"The Phoenix."

"The Phoenix?" Hermione laughed, and Harry grinned sheepishly. "Don't you think that's a bit obvious?"

"The Order is not exactly supposed to be public," He countered. "If anything, people would think it's a proper member of the Order."

Hermione smiled and took a sip of coffee. "I'd say we could be considered proper members."

"Mrs. Weasley wouldn't," Harry said quickly, a slight grimace on his glamoured face telling Hermione that he was aware how much truth there was to his words.

Hermione tapped the rim of the mug as she pondered. "Fine, you can be the Phoenix. Now do me."

Harry simply raised an eyebrow as he stirred the sugar in his own mug.

She was quiet for a few moments, before she made a small peep and laughed, hiding her smile behind the conveniently close newspaper. "Harry, you know what I meant!"

"I did," Harry chuckled, "but it's fun to imagine."

Hermione shook her head so the blush could not work its way to her face for what had to have been the twentieth time that day. Her long blonde hair swished around her shoulders gracefully; distracting Harry for a moment.

"How-" he stopped himself. Hermione looked up at him, her face clear. She waited patiently for him to finish the question.

Harry tried again. "How… do you handle all of that hair?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. One part of her told her that now was the time to raise an eyebrow, but she was certain Harry wasn't really asking about body hair and their favorite places to grow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… your hair is much longer than – usual." He muttered, and she nodded in response. "How do you get adjusted so quickly to it? I don't think I could."

She replied by taking a few strands by the ends and fiddled with them. "There's a reason I chose to glamour more hair," she started, and paused. "Want to know a secret?" She asked, and Harry nodded quickly, leaning forward in the booth. She blinked at his eagerness.

"I, uh – " she began, slightly unnerved by his apparent need to learn something about her. She completely missed the irony. "My hair – usually, it's a bit unmanageable, but it's actually this long."

Harry sat like that for a while, absorbing the information, before he fell back, look of shock on his face. Hermione had to smirk – she was quite pleased that she could surprise him with such a useless fact.

Harry kept the look for a bit more before he tilted his head slightly, obviously trying to turn the hair into its usual cinnamon color in his mind. It looked a bit… strange.

Hermione had decided that there was no real need to change her face, as she was most recognizable with her hair. Since Harry was due to have WANTED posters around the Wizarding and Muggle world, he went for a full facial transformation, courtesy of Hermione.

Actually, nothing drastic had changed. Harry, in his original form, had developed facial hair to the point where Hermione could say 'ruggedly cute' but not yet 'ruggedly handsome.' However, in his current appearance, he was completely clean-shaven. He had a bandage spelled to his forehead, since Hermione couldn't conceal it. She wasn't exactly sure why. After performing the glamour spell a few more times, then a few concealment charms, as a joke Harry just took one of the many bandages from her first-aid kit and crookedly stuck it to his forehead. An embarrassed Harry just shrugged and a more embarrassed Hermione pointed out that it puts attention to that area of his forehead, and people would surely compare. Then, in a fit of inspiration, he took another bandage and put it horizontally on his neck. A few more glamour scars, and an eye color change (blue), and they left the tent to venture to a fast food restaurant for a bit of breakfast.

His hair, while shockingly unmanageable, was unchanged. Harry joked that no one would notice him if it was actually straightened and neat. Hermione refused to put any charm on his hair, for sentimental reasons. Harry rubbed at the bandage on the side of his neck. "How come you don't wear it like that at school?"

Hermione grimaced. "It takes really strong conditioner to do the job," she stressed, "and it costs a bit of money. I only tried it twice, when I was in France on vacation. It was… the complimentary bottle in the hotel room."

Harry chuckled. "I guess I have to look there for a cure."

Hermione frowned, but continued with their previous conversation. "Okay, now I have to think of a name."

"I thought I could choose?"

"You could have, until your dirty thoughts got us off-topic."

"Fair enough."

Hermione sat back, her hands clasped around the mug, holding it to herself. "I suppose I could be an animal name." She looked up at Harry, and almost said something before rapidly shaking her head.

Harry got the feeling of reverse déjà vu as he waited patiently for what she was about to say.

Hermione was thinking of telling him that it was nothing, but she knew he wasn't going to let up until she told him. Just as she always did. "I was only thinking that as a tribute of sorts that I name myself after…" She trailed off.

Harry's smile faded, and she could actually see the light in his eyes dim as his body noticeably slumped. "Hedwig," he murmured, the emotion in his voice breaking her heart.

Hermione immediately realized what she did wrong. All this time, she thought he was adjusting to the snowy owl's death, and slowly beginning to move on, and was healing the wound. Hedwig was never brought up since that night, and he was fine with that – and now she was seeing why. It wasn't to adjust and remember fondly. It was to forget. He was trying to forget. To forget about his first ever best friend, Hedwig.

Hermione immediately moved out of her booth to move to his side. She gently, but forcefully, nudged Harry over to sit with him and wrapped her arms around him. Concentrating, she managed a small wandless notice-me-not charm around them. She then concentrated the rest of her energy on holding him.

He felt Hermione hold him, and tensed. He was not completely used to physical touches. He loved Hermione's hugs, really; he just liked the solace sometimes. In the years and summers he had spent with the Dursleys, he had learned something; if he was by himself, he could do anything and not be judged. When he cried from a particularly painful beating, or even verbal abuse, no one was there to judge him. Hermione could judge him. She  _could_.

But she wouldn't.

So he began to shake. Then, for the first time in over a year, he cried. And Hermione began to sniff. Then she cried. She cried for Harry. She cried for Hedwig. She cried for the whole bloody world.

The tears streaming down Harry's face were relentless. He could've laughed to himself if he wasn't so wracked with guilt; why would he want to forget about Hedwig? Just the thought was nauseating, in hindsight. She was, animal or human, one of his best friends. She was his confidant, his only companion when he was locked up for the summer, the only one he could talk to when he didn't want to talk to anyone else.

And she was dead. Another friend lost to Voldemort.

The  _last_  friend lost to Voldemort.

"He  _dies_ ," he muttered, his voice raspy.

Hermione, her tears drying, lifted her head from his shoulder and loosened her grip around his arms. He tilted his head towards her.

"I don't want anyone else dying," He choked, "and I don't want to wait. I know we have to, but I don't  _want_  to wait! I want him  _dead_. I want them  _all_  dead. Not just for Hedwig. For Mad-Eye. For Sirius. For Cedric. Even for Dumbledore. _I will kill them all._ "

Hermione shook her head. "No, you won't." As Harry was about to argue, she continued. " _We_  will. I didn't send my parents to Australia to put Voldemort and his stooges in handcuffs." A new steely resolve became known in her, matching Harry's own newfound determination, stronger than ever. They both had stopped crying, and the resolve that they seemed to carry said that they were done for a while.

Harry leaned down and gave her a peck on the lips in appreciation. That lightened the mood and they both wiped their tears away. Harry slipped out his wand and undid the charm and Hermione grabbed her coffee from the other side of the table. She took a long gulp of the now-cold coffee, to calm her nerves.

They each enjoyed their coffee in silence, before Harry spoke again.

"If you named yourself H-Hedwig, our identities wouldn't be a secret."

Hermione grimaced. "I wasn't going to  _name_  myself 'Hedwig' - but I don't plan on having witnesses."

That got Harry smiling again. "We need a reputation. For that, we need a messenger. I don't want The Prophet making up a name for us."

She agreed. "I wouldn't trust them if the paper  _wasn't_  rigged by Death Eaters."

"So we need a new name for you… what about Huntress?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Huntress? Seems a bit too… predatory, doesn't it?"

"Exactly."

"That doesn't exactly describe me, Harry."

"It sounds a  _lot_  like you. You may not know it, but when you decide you want something, it's a bit terrifying watching you go for it. You've got determination like no one else. You put as much concentration into finding a spell as I could put into doing a spell."

"That's hardly a good comparison, Harry."

"Fine, fine. You put more effort into freeing elves than I put into teaching Dobby that socks are supposed to match," he said with a grimace, and Hermione chuckled.

"I wonder how he's doing now," Hermione wondered, setting down her now empty mug.

Harry shrugged. "I'll call him when we leave."

"No need, Mister Harry Potter sir."

Harry snapped his head forward, Hermione following shortly after. "What?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, looking around the fast-food restaurant.

"You can't summon him here!" Hermione urgently whispered. "Everyone will see him!"

He turned to Hermione incredulously. "You didn't hear him? He's already here!"

"Hear… no, I didn't," she kept looking where Harry was looking, confused. "I didn't hear a thing. You heard him?"

"Yeah…" Harry muttered, looking at the seat across from him – he knew he heard a voice from  _right there_ , but there was nothing in front of him.

"The Great Mister Harry Potter's Grangey cannot be hearing Dobby's voice, unless the Great Mister Harry Potter is allowing it."

"Um…" Harry muttered, "Dobby, why can't Hermione hear you?"

Other than a gasp from the woman beside him, it was quiet.

"Dobby?"

"The Great Mister Harry Potter, he is a great and smart wizard. He knowses many things, yes he does."

"Oh, no," Harry muttered, and he peeked at Hermione. She was looking at the space that Dobby apparently held, utterly confused. It was just the most adorable look Harry had seen on her, and appreciated the rare sight for a few more seconds, before he looked back at the seat.

"I give you permission to let Hermione hear you, Dobby," Harry spoke, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had just jumped into the veil.

"Great! Hello Mister Potter's Grangey!"

"Err… hello, Dobby," Hermione said slowly, after putting up yet another notice-me-not with her wand. "May I ask why I couldn't hear you, but Harry could? Is it because he summoned you, and not me?"

The silence that ensued was deafening in Harry's ears.

"Oh." Apparently, that was all she needed to turn towards Harry. He refused to turn towards her until he confirmed with Dobby that he was about to be yelled at for a reason.

"Dobby, did you –"

"Dobby is very, very sorry for interrupting the Great Master Harry Potter," he started, not realizing his slip of tongue, "but Dobby is noticing some very bad men here. They is friends of Dobby's former Master."

"Very – bad – men?" Harry repeated slowly, then froze.

Hermione tensed and stared hard at the spot Dobby was supposed to be. "You mean – Death Eaters?"

They could hear the flop of his ears when Dobby nodded.

On instinct, Harry lifted his feet onto the seat once again, crouched for an easy escape. He slipped the invisibility cloak from his pocket on his head and over himself, searching for the  _very bad men_.

"Dobby," Harry started, "You're under a notice-me-not charm. I need you to be visible so you can point to them."

Dobby popped into view, already pointing to his right, their left. Two men were sitting across from each other, whispering hurriedly. They were both dressed in trench coats – strange, but not uncommon for the early morning. Occasionally, one of the men would glance around, with calculating, hurried eyes.

Harry leaped over Hermione and nimbly landed on his feet on the floor. He leaned back into Hermione's lap.

"How should I handle this?" Harry whispered, his eyes not leaving his targets.

Hermione knew he was basically asking what the least noticeable spell he could incapacitate with. Fortunately, she had visited the Black Library before their departure, and had quite the collection of Dark and Grey Spells. She muttered one such spell in his ear, before putting up her wand and tapping her head. Immediately, she felt the effects of the disillusion spell, as she had the sensation of an egg splattering across her head, before dripping down her whole body. She looked down at herself as the spell was complete and smiled at her work. The whole time, she had her hand on Harry's shoulder, making sure he didn't move without her.

Harry waited patiently, not having a clue as to why she didn't release him yet, but not arguing unless his targets decided to leave. So he was surprised when she asked him to move over, and when he did, he was surprised to see an almost invisible Hermione crouch next to him. She winked before she took his hand.

Harry had to grin – Huntress was a good name for her.

As they slowly moved together towards the unsuspecting predators, Dobby snapped his fingers, making both Harry and Hermione completely invisible. He then became invisible again and surveyed what was about transpire, ready to jump in at any time; ready to protect his bonded Master.

Only a few feet away from them, Harry recognized one of them – Goyle Sr., one of the men that was captured in the Ministry. He didn't recognize the other man, and he didn't care. They released each other and quietly took their seat next to the two men, Hermione sitting next to the unknown man and Harry next to Goyle. They slowly raised their wands, and for the first time they noticed that they couldn't see them, or the hands holding them. Harry stared dumbly at the wand he knew he was holding until he looked over to Dobby. He couldn't see the little elf anymore, but he was pretty sure he was smiling. Turning his attention back to Goyle, he slid his wand out of his cloak and pressed the wood into his neck.

Goyle stiffened.

"Scabior," he muttered.

"What?" He asked, wondering why Goyle stopped in mid-conversation.

"Found 'im," He murmured, and Harry made himself known to the man named Scabior by pressing the tip deeper into the vein, making a noticeable hole in his throat. Goyle winced with pain, but didn't dare bring attention to their table.

Scabior went for his wand, only to realize it was gone. Then he felt the tip of a wand embed itself into his temple, and jumped in surprise, banging his knee on the table.

No one noticed. Harry once again suspected Dobby. Taking a gamble, he removed the cloak. He was still invisible. He planned on using that to his advantage. "You know who I am?" Harry whispered, making sure to keep his voice disguised. He was asking Goyle, but it was Scabior who replied.

"Can' bloody see ya…" he murmured, very aware of the wand poking the side of his head. "Damn blood-traitors, or are ya Mudbloods?…Gaah, dammit!"

"I'd watch my tongue," Hermione growled, "if I were you. It'd be easier if your jaw wasn't in the way." Quick as a flash, he felt another wand tip poke his chin.

Harry had learned something about himself on Tottenham Court Road; when there was business to be done  _now_ , there was time to be nervous  _later_. Other than a small, unnoticeable stutter in his breath, he was, for the most part, calm. It did, however, help that he was remembering those he had cried for, and what group was responsible for that.

"Then he wouldn't be able to talk, dear," He murmured, and Hermione smirked at the casualness of his words. She felt no reason to be nervous yet – just pleasant, mocking conversation, her mind temporarily blocking out what they had planned for the two Death Eaters to help her focus better.

"We won't talk," Scabior whispered hurriedly. Goyle seemed to be too scared to speak.

"So what do you think, Phoenix? If they're not going to talk, we don't need them anymore, right?"

"You read my mind," He grinned.

"Like a book." A second later, she removed both wands from her captor.

Scabior released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I don't know 'oo the bloody hell ya'are, but when we find you, and we  _will_  find you…" he stopped as he felt his eyes droop. "We're… gonna… kill…"

He was asleep. Hermione put away Scabior's wand, but kept her own wand trained on him, as it was her first time casting the dark spell that she had told Harry about. It was a spell designed to keep its victims asleep for however long the caster wishes, which can be righted with a simple 'Ennervate', but only by the original caster.

What made the spell 'gray' was that it did not shut down the bodily functioning like regular sleep did. They looked, acted, and sounded asleep. But they weren't, the brain didn't recognize it as such. It was a very useful spell, Hermione had to admit.

Harry had already cast the spell on Goyle, and his head smashed violently against the table; Harry felt no real need to stop it.

"You're not the only one that can read people like a book, Huntress."

Hermione shifted her head to him, even though she couldn't see him. "Then you'd know I don't like that name," she chuckled. "I still have an hour to think of one. If you can read my mind so well, Harry, tell me what our plan is."

Harry didn't pause. "We take Scabior down. He's not going to talk, at least anytime soon. I trust Goyle to talk sooner. We show him what we could do to him, he'll likely talk."

Hermione blinked. She blinked again. Then she just closed her eyes and sat back. She opened her eyes once more to see a now visible Harry grinning smugly. "Cheeky bastard," she muttered, pouting.

"Language, Hermione."

"Oh, shut it, we're about to kill a man."

"It could be worse."

"How much worse could it be?  _We_  get killed?"

"Even worse – we could be  _expelled_."

Hermione broke into laughter as Harry said it all with a straight face, which soon dissolved into chuckles. "I should be insulted, I really should," she told him, trying to stay quiet. "But I'm more embarrassed that you remember me saying that!"

Harry shook his head, still chuckling, as he stepped out of the booth, slipping his cloak back into his large pockets. He pointed his wand at the unconscious fat man and flicked his wand. Goyle started levitating. He looked over to where Dobby was supposed to be, silently communicating. He heard a pop and looked back at Goyle and himself to see nothing; Dobby had done well.

Harry was very impressed with Dobby's magic. He still remembered Dobby blasting Lucius halfway down the hall years ago, and hoped that he could ever be anywhere near that level of magic.

With an almost silent pop, Scabior was invisible as well. Hermione wordlessly stood up from the booth and levitated him.

Cancelling the charms around them, and leaving a ten pound note on the table, the two left the establishment. Seeing no one around, they unceremoniously dropped the bodies to the ground and each placed a foot on them. With a pop, they vanished – not that you could see them anyway.

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom was in danger. He knew that, and he knew it very well. He may have been a Pureblood, but he was a Blood-traitor. It certainly didn't help that he had escaped Bellatrix Lestrange's wrath.

That night, sixteen years ago. Tuesday. It was three days after Voldemort's defeat, and Harry's parents' deaths. His parents were organizing James and Lily's funeral, and had sent baby Nev to Augusta's house for the week. They sent him that morning.

The Lestranges and Crouch came that night.

They refused to say where he was. They paid the price. It was so  _easy_  to blame his own parents for their demise – why couldn't they just tell them where he was? He wasn't worth their sanity!

But they were foolish enough to think that he was worth it.

He  _wanted_  to be like his parents. Foolishly brave. Reckless. Fearlessly loyal.

He picked up a seemingly random galleon and cast a spell.

Dumbledore's Army was reforming.

* * *

 

Luna was packing for the new year at Hogwarts.

It was a wonderful wedding she had gone to a few weeks ago. Bill and Fleur looked so happy before all that unpleasantness happened.

Hermione and Harry seemed to have been getting along better as of late. She was pleased.

She knew the differences. She  _saw_  the changes. She was unsure of the consequences.

But they looked fun. She wanted to see it firsthand.

She found herself packing two suitcases.

She soon took a break and began writing a letter. She didn't know what was going to be in the letter, but she supposed she would find out when she was done.

But, then again, it would be rude to read a letter meant for someone else, wouldn't it? Yes, she decided. It was an invasion of privacy. She would finish it, quickly roll it up and send it off.

The spark in her eyes disappeared. She missed Hedwig. She was such a pretty and kind bird. She always delivered her letters when she called, whenever Harry wasn't using her.

Or maybe she just loved radishes?

Who would deliver her letters now? The Wrackspurts would undoubtedly eat the parchment before it left the window, just like last time. The Heliopaths would probably deliver it, but they were much too slow, since they were limited to the ground. Not to mention that the parchment would burn.

Burn?

Burn!

She looked up from her desk just in time to see a flash of fire.

* * *

 

Harry and Hermione stared at the two unconscious figures before them. They were all twenty meters from the tent, outside of its protections.

They knew their plan. They knew why they had to act on it. But they weren't sure if they should. Not the 'killing'. They had admitted, while it was rather cynical of them, they would do it. It was a necessity. No, they weren't sure if it should be Harry and Hermione that should take action, or The Phoenix and The Huntress.

"What do you think?" Harry asked her. "We're on the run – Tommy knows the first part of the prophecy – if we start taking out his forces, it wouldn't be that hard to figure out. Not to mention… you know."

Hermione nodded with a grimace. She was well aware of his visions through Voldemort's eyes. Nothing much had happened that wasn't in the newspapers. Ollivander was still alive, he hadn't finished making the first substitute wand yet. With a little fishing, Harry found that Voldemort would give him four chances to make him the perfect wand. After that, he would be killed, successful or not.

While using Voldemort's sight, he couldn't help but glance over the furnace to see a coat of arms. " _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ "

He knew one part from fourth grade history.  _Semper_ , as a part of  _Sic Semper Tyrannis,_  means 'always'.  _Sanctimonia_ …shouldn't that mean sacred, or sanctuary maybe?

'Purity Always Conquers,' _he thought idly. It angered him and pleased him in a way that he couldn't understand. His muddy past kept him from enjoying the motto. While he indefinitely proved the motto wrong, he was preaching that it was completely and utterly correct. Lucius's family motto was to be the stable of a new era, the most commonly known words in the Wizarding World, and the new adage for all families in the future._

With a shock, Harry snuck out of Voldemort's mind and opened his eyes in a cold sweat.

He hadn't told Hermione about the vision he had a few hours ago, while he was sleeping. He was planning to tell her during breakfast.

However, plans change.

"But if we  _do_  use our aliases, then Snape can't reveal anything. He probably wouldn't be able to connect it - he thinks he knows you. Same goes for Ron," Hermione commented, looking somewhat distracted.

"Hermione," Harry put his hand on her shoulder, "you don't have to do this. I can handle it."

"Hm? Oh. Oh, no, it's not about this. I was just thinking of a better name."

"Oh." He looked back at the unconscious gentleman, who looked to be knocked out for a while.

It was strange, really. Looking at the people you were going to kill. With Dolohov, it was unthinking; poorly timed, unplanned, and, in a way, rewarding. But with these two, it was pre-meditated. It was very disconcerting, telling yourself that you wouldn't get more prison time because of that small difference, because you weren't  _going_  to jail.

They may have been the good guys, but they were criminals.

But it was best not to dwell on that at the moment.

"Had another vision last night," Harry muttered, not sure if she heard him.

Of course, with news like that, she  _had_  to. "Really? What did you see?"

"Malfoy's Mansion. His living room, I think. Tommy's there."

That got her full attention. "Their manor? That's his hiding place? How did you find out?"

"Tom told me. He was mentioning The Malfoy's motto,  _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ "

Hermione was silent for a moment. " _…Purity Always…Conquers._  It certainly  _sounds_  like the Malfoy family motto. But are we sure it's theirs?"

Harry nodded. "He mentioned it being Lucius's family adage."

She sighed. "Okay. We know where he is. But we can't go after him – yet. We can hope he doesn't leave before we're ready for him." She crossed her arms and looked ahead, towards the tent. "Hmm… I suppose that could work." She turned back to Harry, smiling. "What do you think of the name 'Noctuaenix?' (knock-chuh-eh-knicks)

"Noctuanix?" Harry confirmed, questioning. At Hermione's nod, he rubbed his shaved chin. "Is that Latin? Related to Phoe _-nix_?"

"In a way, yes. It roughly translates into Snowy Owl. I think Hedwig would have liked it." She gave him a soft smile.

"I'm sure she would," Harry grinned with happiness. "The only thing that would make her happier is if you added the Latin word for bacon."

They shared a brief chuckle with each other, until Goyle began snoring. That sobered them up quickly.

"We have to let him think that there is a threat to him bigger than Dumbledore could ever bring; we have to  _make_  him think that if he makes a wrong move, or try to pursue us, we won't hesitate to destroy his forces. And, most importantly, we don't want him – or anyone else, for that matter – to think that Golden Boy Harry Potter had anything to do with this."

Harry nodded with his partner. "We need better disguises than this, though."

"Maybe," Hermione agreed, "but it's a bit too late to make wardrobe decisions right now. I have an idea."

* * *

 

"Neville!" Susan grinned as she kneeled before her fireplace. "What's up?" She looked closer. "Oh, what happened! It looks like you've been crying! What's wrong?"

She couldn't see him shrug. "Hey, Sue," he smiled back at her. "Nothing's wrong, right now, anyways. Can I come through? I wanted to ask you something I should've asked a long time ago."

Susan blinked at his forwardness. "Sure," she said, getting up to step back. Neville had asked her out before the end of school, before the battle. She hoped he wasn't proposing or anything. Not that she'd say no if he did ask. In fact, she'd love to say yes. But not during a war. Of most people, she knew that no one was guaranteed to survive You-Know-Who's reign.

Neville stumbled through the green flames and fell into Susan's embrace. They hugged each other for a moment, until Neville stepped back to get a good look. "Are  _you_  alright?"

Susan hesitantly nodded. "Yes, I think so. It's been a year already. She wouldn't want me to keep crying over her. She'd want me to help avenge her and my parents' deaths."

Neville gently tugged Susan to the sofa. "That's what I want to talk to you about."

"Oh, my DA galleon was buzzing this morning. So we're reforming? You didn't need to come here to tell me that," The strawberry-blonde smirked.

Neville smiled a rather hollow smile. "It has something to do with it. We don't have a secure floo line, and I didn't want anything about the DA being picked up." He frowned. "Speaking of which, we need a new name."

Susan couldn't help but feel a little sad that Neville's reason for visiting wasn't for personal reasons, but she quickly got over it. "Why? Dumbledore's Army is a perfect name for a war."

Neville shook his head. "With what I have in mind, I don't think Dumbledore approves his name being in it."

Susan observed his grim look and decided that he was probably right. "I should wake Hannah up, then?" She asked him, pointing towards the hallway.

Neville nodded wordlessly. He knew that she had been Susan's roommate ever since the last of Susan's guardians died. They had always been each other's rock.

It was good to have friends like that. Especially in this time.

* * *

 

Scabior woke first. He saw nothing. He quickly surmised that he was blindfolded. He didn't dare move, not wanting to alert his captors that he awoke.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

He almost growled at the definitely feminine voice. It was the same one that had knocked him out.

"Were you serious about saying you were going to find us and kill us?"

He tried to remember what she had gotten that from, and frowned at the decidedly stupid words he had said to someone who had stolen his wand.

"Wha' d'ya wan'? Money?"

"I want you to answer the question." A small pause. "I already emptied your pockets."

"No, Ah didn' mean it." He did.

"I see." She didn't sound convinced. "So, if I asked you a few questions, and let you go, then I suppose you wouldn't report this to anyone, right?"

"… Yeah."

"Oh. Okay, then. Name?"

He wasn't sure if she was genuine, faked being stupid, or being genuinely stupid, but he answered the question, wondering if he really would be let go. "Scabior."

"Last name."

He paused.

"I don't want to kill you, Scabior no-name."

"Callows."

"Ah. I suppose you're the youngest brother." It wasn't a question, more of a confirmation. He found himself nodding anyway.

"Now answer me this – why haven't you joined Volde – "

" _DON'T speak his name!_ " He screamed, before blanching at his own stupidity. He could have been saved! His captors obviously didn't know about the Taboo. More Snatchers could have arrived, captured his captors, and –

Probably would have killed him. Bounty hunters didn't really like competition.

The girl sounded pretty relaxed about saying his name, and he couldn't afford another mistake. With a grimace, he spoke again.

"It's a Taboo. If'n you say 'is name, they send ou' people like me. I wouldn' do it."

"Hm. Good to know." In his perspective, it sounded like just another useless fact. She was silent for a few moments. "Well? Answer the question."

He wracked his brains for the question. "Err…I can' be a Snatcher an' a Death Eater. Can' get paid tha' way. Death Eaters can' work for th' Ministry."

"Paid? As in 'bounty'? What's the reward for anyone that says his name?"

"A thousan'."

"What about a Mublood? A blood-traitor?"

He frowned at the terminology. Was this girl on their side? Maybe she really was going to let him go, and she just wanted a few answers? He felt better answering her questions. "Blood-traitors two thousan'. Mudbloods are twen'y five 'undred. More 'an they're worth, if ya'ask me."

"I didn't," the voice calmly noted. "I believe I asked you everything you'll be able to answer. I suppose I should thank you in some way."

Scabior found himself smirking. He liked where this was going.

"I suppose Phoenix wouldn't mind," She muttered, and his blindfold slipped off his eyes. He saw an unfamiliar, but shockingly beautiful face. He vaguely remembered 'Phoenix' being her partner's name. Boyfriend, maybe?

"Do you know who I am?" She whispered to him, but not as sexily as he wanted; it was more of a curious tone.

"No," he grunted. He went to reach out, and grimaced.

He had  _just_  realized his body was immobile, his hands bound behind the chair. He didn't even  _try_  to escape, not  _once_. But he had a feeling that he was going to be glad he stayed.

"Then perhaps you know my best friend." She spoke normally, hunching to meet his eye-level.

"Oh? And 'oo would tha' be, missy?" He was already thinking of her equally beautiful friend in part two of his 'interrogation'.

"His name is Harry Potter."

His eyes widened in shock. "Wha'? Wha'are you playin'!"

"Perhaps you know me – Hermione Granger?"

He began struggling; he couldn't move an inch. "Le' me go, ya bleedin' Mudblood!"

"And now I know how to thank you," she told him, frowning for the first time. She got up and stepped back. "Harry doesn't react well to language like that. His mum was Muggleborn, you see. I  _could_  thank you by letting you go before he can get to you. But then, he'll probably be mad at  _me_. Doubly so, because I used that wretched word. I  _have_  to right wrongs when I can, you understand. So what should I do with you?"

It took a few moments for him to notice that she was genuinely curious about his answer about what to do with him. After a bit more futile struggling, that basically consisted of twisting his neck back and forth, no other body movement, he conceded. "Azkaban, I s'pose." He sighed as he said it. He'd have to start all over again. He had only caught a few small lawbreakers, and that was barely enough to pay his way out of the prison. He'd have to get Amycus to send him a few extra hundred, which was no easy feat. His only solace was that while he was twisting his neck, he had studied his surroundings. He saw a distinctive mark in one of the trees and he committed it to memory. He would concentrate on it again, and would pop back later. With company. And maybe, for the right price, his Lord.

"I don't think so," He barely heard her say, before she lifted her wand. He didn't see her unsheathe it.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The only thing he really had time to calculate was the hitch in her voice.

He probably would have wondered if it was her first time casting that spell. If it really was, then would it have the hate behind the curse to kill him? But by then, the spell had hit him. His questions were answered – but he would never know.

Hermione stared at the limp body of Scabior Carrow. Her first victim. She didn't react; she only stared. Just stared.

Harry stood in her way and wrapped her arms around her. Hermione found herself hugging him back. She wasn't going to cry – he didn't deserve her tears – and, if she were honest, she just didn't really feel like crying.

So she held him. Emotionless.

She knew what war entailed. She knew the sacrifices she had to make. She knew how far she had to go to end this pointless war as soon as possible.

It didn't make it any easier.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered to her, His hands in her hair, holding her head to his chest.

It wasn't his fault. But she felt like she could blame him. But he still felt the need to apologize. Sweet.

She certainly didn't feel any better. But she was getting there.

* * *

 

_Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,_

_I'm sorry._

_\- Hermione._

Arthur quietly left the room, letting his youngest son recover, after doing as many healing spells as he could. None of his injuries were life-threatening; the permanent markings, however, were just that – permanent. Several large bruises on his stomach. His jaw was swelling. His nose was fractured; dried blood covered his face, that Arthur cleaned up. His arms took quite the beating as well, but not quite broken. He would need Poppy to look at the rest. She was the best medic the Order had on hand. He just hoped she took late-night calls.

He left his son with the ghoul in the attic, and stepping down the stairs he took another look at the note.

He really didn't know what to think about it.

Best not let Molly see it, though.

* * *

 

The number one thing to remember in an interrogation is the questions.

Harry had forgotten them. Hermione was a godsend, though, as she had already asked them all with Scabior, just to see how far she could get. He answered them all truthfully, to their knowledge.

The Taboo? Neither had ever heard of such a thing. It did give new meaning to why people were scared to say his name. Was it Taboo during the last war?

It wasn't big enough a question to wake up a Death Eater about it.

Which led to another question: What should they do to the Inner Circle member? Their original plan had turned out better than expected – they no longer needed him. They could send a message with their new names, but they could do that at another time. Hopefully, with better disguises. He was very doubtful of Goyle's knowledge of the Horcruxes. If any of his followers knew anything about them, it would be the Elder Malfoy, Bellatrix, or Snape.

But Voldemort wasn't stupid enough to trust a double-agent with that information, loyalty or no. Lucius had already been entrusted with a Horcrux, and he likely wasn't going to be given another one anytime soon, if he even knew what it was to begin with, which was doubtful.

So that left Bellatrix as the most likely suspect. They weren't even sure that Voldemort would have even given more than one of his followers one of his precious pieces of soul, but it was the only lead they had.

But Goyle couldn't confirm it for them. And he wouldn't be able to help them lure in someone who could. Harry had the feeling that even if they killed him, a member of the inner circle, he wouldn't be missed, or even remembered.

They were a good mile away from the tent, now. The same landmark Scabior had recognized was their own apparition visual, for they had carved it to return to that place – A circle inside of a triangle, with a vertical line splitting the symbol.

A few minutes later, Harry came up with an idea.

Almost a full 24 hours later, after not being fed, watered, or even let out of the chair, Goyle finally gave in to their demands, croaked out his master's anagrammed name, and cried.

Snatchers appeared, three of them. They took one look around, and couldn't help but feel that they were in a trap.

There was a large fire surrounding them. But it wasn't engulfing them. No, it was a short fire, as short as the tallest grass.

However, what made it large was that it was spread across the entire opening. of the forest.

While one of the snatchers levitated the source of their next paycheck, the other two stepped back and over the fires, until they had reached the edge. One of them had realized that it wasn't just random flames; it was writing.

A message.

The other one was already climbing a tree before the smart one had suggested conjuring a ladder.

He found himself hanging onto a branch, for dear life. It had sounded like a good idea moments ago, but now, not so much. He looked at the surprisingly neat script – there was obviously magic keeping the fire from spreading. He read the simple message out loud.

"It says 'Beware the Phoenix and Noc-chay-nix!'"

The other man had already conjured a ladder, and was reading it with him. "No it doesn't, ya blubberin' idiot! It says Noctuaenix!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He yelled back, but he didn't get an answer. The branch broke.

The man on the ladder looked behind him as his partner fell to his death. He was so shocked he didn't see the red spell hit him from the front. He, too, fell from the tall ladder.

The first man – the one who had levitated Goyle – didn't notice any of this. He had already apparated back to the Ministry. He would return ten minutes later with the bounty money, wondering why they hadn't returned, only to see his partners lying on the ground, dead, surrounded by the dying fire.

He didn't notice the  _Sectumsempra_  aimed for his back.

As his senses were fading, he felt the mighty bag of galleons being hefted beside him. Then there were two pops.

He was alone. Then, he was dead.

'Phoenix' and 'Noctuaenix' didn't feel any pride in what they did. They had sent their message, and they had gotten several thousand galleons. Apparently, an Inner Circle Death Eater that seemingly betrayed the Dark Lord was worth ten thousand Galleons.

They wished they were cynical, or even a bit cold-hearted, so they would be happy with their accomplishment.

But they wordlessly changed clothes and went to bed.

An hour later, Hermione tentatively slipped into Harry's bed. Harry, obviously not asleep, decided not to argue, and they pulled each other closer.

The only thing that brought him any sort of happiness at the moment was Hermione conveniently forgetting about Dobby being Harry's slave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt that this chapter just got better and better as it goes. Not too rushed, but not too slow. I try to get better with each chapter. Unfortunately for me, considering how much we have to get done between now and the end of the book, I'm not ending this story anytime soon; especially if I keep taking breaks like these.
> 
> Harry and Hermione's story from the cafe scene onwards was two weeks after Ron's departure. This was the first time H/Hr shared a bed, in case anyone was curious.  
> Neville's story was a few days before they return to Hogwarts.  
> Arthur's story was later night.  
> Luna's story was the same time as Neville's.
> 
> If it helps, read Scabior's lines as The Penguin from Batman.
> 
> Some of you can already see where some of these stories are going. I have to say, this is the first time I've ever actually thought about what to type before I typed it. Should be a pretty fun ride from here on out.
> 
> Yes, yes, Harry and Hermione are a bit dark, but I like to think it's realistically dark. Let's face it, it's a war. I'm not a fan of casualties. Really, I'm not. But I'd rather it be the bad guys dying all over the place.
> 
> That being said, I don't really have any immediate plans to kill any good guys off. I'm just too good a guy to do it. I'm not being realistic in this way, and I honestly don't care.
> 
> In fact, in the next chapter or two, I'm gonna do something REALLY unrealistic. I've dropped a few hints. It will be fun to hear your theories on what I'm planning.
> 
> On rihaansfics dot com, I uploaded a somewhat humorous argument I've had with a Romione fan. I think it's worth a read. It's in the Documents section. Sorry, person-that-I-was-arguing-with, but I had to upload it. If it makes you feel any better, it's a pretty empty community of a website. Now people can see your argument, and probably jump ship... I'll get the harpoons.
> 
> It's my version of a Yahoo group, so if anyone wants to join, then thank you.
> 
> AN2: Noctuaenix is a working name, but I like it. Who can make a better one?
> 
> Please review. I'll do my best to reply to as many as I can this time.


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